


All Souls' Comes to Skyhold

by TheGweninator



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: All Souls' Day, Alyssa Trevelyan, Bar fights, Celebrations, Costume Party, Costumes, Dress Up, F/M, Fluff, Fun, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Holidays, Humor, Kids, POV First Person, POV Inquisitor, POV Solas, Party, Post-Endgame, Pre-Trespasser, Total Nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-04-28 00:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5071054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGweninator/pseuds/TheGweninator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the Breach finally sealed, all of Skyhold is celebrating...but a somber holiday threatens to dampen morale. Luckily, Ambassador Montilyet may have just the solution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank-you to all of the adorable dorks on Twitter who not only inspired me to write this fic, but helped me brainstorm costume ideas when my own imagination decided to take a coffee break. Much cackling and flailing of limbs was had. I love all of your faces.

“The mission was a success,” said Leliana, moving one of her tiny metallic ravens back to the section of the map labelled _Skyhold_. “We should have no further trouble from the Comtesse. However, that does not mean her household will sit idle. We should prepare ourselves for further overtures from her extended family and perhaps even her staff.”

“Sera can handle the servants,” I said, fidgeting with one of the golden buttons that had popped off of my shirt thanks to a combination of my own folly and an overeager branch in the courtyard. “Which reminds me--she came to me asking for beehives again.”

“Absolutely not,” said Cullen, instantly scowling. “The last thing we need is some recruit stumbling into one of those damn things and starting a panic.”

“The recruits don’t need access to _every_ part of Skyhold, Commander,” said Leliana. She gave him a pitying look. “We could easily set apart a section of the castle and keep it under guard.”

“Hiding things from our own people in our own fortress?” Cullen replied, glaring at her. “Why don’t you just stand at the gate and tell them we don’t trust them as they come through? It’d save a lot of time.”

“Please, both of you,” interrupted Josephine. She rolled her ever-present quill back and forth between her index finger and thumb, one of the few expressions of frustration I had ever known her to make. “There is no reason to argue over this. Skyhold is much too cold to keep bees, particularly at this time of year. We should continue relying on our suppliers, and if Sera still feels strongly about the matter, perhaps we can arrange for her to have some sort of refuge in The Hinterlands. Where it’s warmer.”

I thought of the many nights I’d spent shivering in my tent out in The Hinterlands’ pine forests, my bedroll always full of rocks no matter how I arranged it, and was briefly horrified that we’d all spent enough time in Skyhold to genuinely consider that _warm._

Leliana and Cullen shifted uncomfortably, clearly embarrassed to not have realized such a simple truth, but neither was willing to admit it.

“Thank you, Josie,” said Leliana, recovering the quickest. For his part, Cullen muttered something under his breath and grabbed report to stare at. The spymistress shook her head at him, before turning back to me. “Inquisitor, I trust this response will be satisfactory to Sera?”

“Doubtful,” I said, already imagining Sera’s loud, derisive snort and not-too-loud-but-just-loud-enough string of insulting nicknames for nobles, “But unless Vivienne’s forgiven her for that last incident with the nugs, I fail to see her finding a way to change the weather.”

Josephine coughed, but I caught her smile before she could hide it. Leliana’s expression remained perfectly neutral, thus confirming my suspicions that she was the one who had supplied the nugs.

Cullen was the first to break our awkwardly amused silence, sliding the report he’d blankly stared at back across the War Table. “Will that be all for today?”

“Actually,” said Josephine, her face lighting up. “There is one more thing.”

“Oh?” I asked. Our ambassador’s smile was infectious, but inwardly I tensed. The last time I’d seen this look, she’d been peppering me with incredibly pointed questions about wedding dresses, and if she was about to do this again in front of Cullen then I needed to make sure I was within reach to catch him if he fainted.

“Yes,” continued Josephine. “As I’m sure you’re all aware, it’s nearly All Souls' Day. While I realize there has already been a great deal of celebrating in the wake of Corypheus’ defeat--thank you again, Inquisitor--I think we should observe the holiday.”

“Is that...I mean, I have no objections to anyone who wants to celebrate it privately, of course; but perhaps that is a little...” Cullen glanced at me, looking uncomfortable. “Somber?”

“We may risk more if don’t celebrate it, Commander,” said Leliana. “It could be seen as some as a slight against the Herald.”

“She has a point,” I added. “We do have a Chantry in our courtyard, after all.”

Josephine jumped in. “This is precisely what I wanted to discuss. Inquisitor, would you perhaps be open to celebrating the holiday a bit...differently?”

“ _How_ differently?” asked Cullen. I could already hear a familiar wariness creeping into his voice. 

“There would still be the traditional bonfires, of course. But lately, a new trend has emerged in Orlais--”

“No.”

" _Cullen._ ” I said, meeting his disgruntled glare with one of my own. “Let her finish.”

Josephine gave me a grateful nod, continuing. “As I’m sure you’re already aware, celebrations in Orlais tend to be rather... _ornate._ Lately, some artists have begun adding different designs to the masks of The Grand Game, then pairing them with costumes. At first this was done strictly for plays honoring Andraste’s sacrifice, but now the trend is for one group to appear as the rogue spirits demanding tribute, while another group dresses as royalty, heroes, or sometimes even beasts. Some noble families have also been swapping the roles of their staff and their household, making themselves into lowly spirits and their servants into the heroes.” She blushed. “It’s all _quite_ scandalous, which of course means it’s also incredibly popular.”

“And you’re suggesting...what, exactly?” I asked. “That we hold one of these gatherings here? At Skyhold?”

Josephine’s smile dazzled like sunshine. “Precisely! Obviously, we are not Orlesian, so of course we may interpret the trend however we wish. But with so many nobles still in attendance to celebrate the fall of Corypheus, and since we will need to mark the occasion _anyway_..." she shrugged. "it seems like a waste to simply repeat the same old somber traditions and risk decreasing morale.”

“And of course, we would control which groups dressed as which; that could have some very interesting results.” mused Leliana, thoughtfully tapping a gloved finger on the table. She smiled. “Josie, you’re incredible.”

While Josephine was busy glowing under Leliana’s praise, Cullen’s expression had become positively murderous. “Are we seriously considering this?” he said. “It’s a holy day of remembrance, not some noble fop’s private fantasy.”

“And what, pray tell, is wrong with private fantasies?” I asked, giving the Commander a very pointed look.

He stumbled on some of his righteous fury, blushing. “That is not what I--that is to say, this idea is...it’s...”

Leliana smirked. “Blasphemous?”

“Romantic?” Josephine breathed.

I flipped my button like a coin, catching it in mid-air. “Daring?”

“...happening whether I like it or not, isn’t it?” Cullen grumbled, looking deflated.

“Seems that way.” I said. I turned back to Leliana and Josephine with a devious grin. “So, ladies--what say you? Spirit, hero, or beast for our dashing Commander?”


	2. Seven Days 'til All Souls'

The fight was spilling out of the Rest and into the training ring by the time I arrived. Commander Cullen was already in the midst of it, shouting and dragging people off each other; Cassandra was doing the same from the other side of the crowd. Few seemed to care about their interference, staggering away from one opponent only to rush headlong into another. Somewhere, I thought I heard Sera laughing. Ascending the stairs from the main gates below, I stuck to the shadows and skirted around the edges of the fight, darting into the Rest and preparing myself for bees.

There were no bees, thankfully; only stunned patrons, and Maryden fiddling anxiously with her lute. She gave me a questioning look as I passed by, but I motioned for her to be silent. Outside I could hear Cullen shouting something about tying someone to a tower; and also maybe something about goats? I tried not to dwell.

“Cabot!” I put on my best Inquisitorial face and strode over to the bar. The misanthropic dwarf looked up at me with his usual lack of interest. “What in the Maker’s name is going on here?”

“Bar fight,” he said.

I glared.

Cabot held up his hands. “Fine, fine. Chargers started some sort of argument with each other.” He peered around my shoulder, even though I knew there was no way he could see what was going on outside. “Sounds like they’re still starting.”

My glare continued. “Bull?”

“Not here.”

Of course not. The huge Qunari was always in everyone's business right until you actually _needed_ him. Perfect. I sighed, turning from the bar and stepping back outside. Things had settled a little, but there were still plenty of people circling one another. Cullen had one young man by the back of his shirt, holding him aloft like an errant puppy. Now that I was looking for them, I easily spotted all of the Bull’s Chargers in the crowd. They looked...odd somehow. Scruffier than usual, though maybe that was just all the mud they were stirring up. Several people--a few of whom I recognized as new recruits--caught sight of me and immediately gave up on brawling. Across the tangled knot of people, Cassandra was restraining two of the fighters, one of whom I recognized as Skinner, the city elf from Bull’s mercenary group.

“That’s enough!” shouted Cassandra, gripping Skinner by the shoulder. “Stand down and release your staff!”

“ ** _It’s a bow,_** ” said all of the Chargers in unison.

“Wait... why does Skinner have Dalish’s sta--er, bow?” I asked, stepping over a drunken patron who had given up fighting in favor of giggling at the sky. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing,” said Skinner in a petulant tone, not meeting my eyes.

Cassandra glared at her. “Answer the Inquisitor!”

“Or what? You’ll shake me?” Skinner sneered.

“Ugh, just tell her,” grumbled a voice by one of my shins. I looked down to see Stitches rolling himself onto his back. “The Chief’s gonna kill us one way or the other.”

“Speak for yourself!” called Dalish, popping up from beside a barrel. “I’m not the one who decided to get fancy with swearing in elvhen.”

“Don’t be so picky next time,” snarled Skinner, struggling in Cassandra’s iron grip. It didn’t get her very far. “You’re too sensitive, Dalish.”

Dalish whirled, pointing an accusatory finger at the other elf. “I dare you to say that to my face!”

“...I just did!”

“ _Enough!_ ” shouted Cullen. “You will explain this nonsense and you will do so now, or Maker help me I will throw you all in the hold!”

Silence descended over the courtyard. Anyone who hadn’t been stopping to stare at the spectacle before was with us now, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. Cullen tended to have that effect on people, especially when his face was turning several shades of bright red, as it was now.

“The Commander asked you a question!” I said, when no one was quick to reply. I glared at Skinner and Dalish, but neither would meet my eyes. It was then that I noticed Skinner was dressed in Dalish’s chainmail and robes, as well as holding her staff. Looking back at Dalish, I saw she was wearing Skinner’s leathers. _Maker..._ I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the points all connect. I sighed. “You’re all dressed as one another for the party, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.” murmured Rocky.

Cullen made a disgusted noise, dropping the recruit he was holding. “I knew this party was going to be trouble."

“Don’t start.” I said, pointing at him.

“Look,” said Stitches, finally getting to his feet and brushing off his trousers. He was dressed like Grim, though apparently wasn’t holding to the Charger’s disinterest in speaking. “Are you going to tell the Chief about this? Because...we maybe...didn’t tell him about...stuff.” he shrugged, glancing around at the other Chargers.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re all out here rolling around in the mud in front of all and sundry and somehow you think Bull doesn’t already know?”

“She’s got a point,” said Skinner.

“Inquisitor...what should be done with them?” asked Cassandra. She hoisted Skinner a little higher, and I could have sworn she smiled as the elf glared at her.

Before I could answer, a familiar snort-giggle echoed through the courtyard. “Think fast, shitefaces!”

Fast as lightning, a blur of red and yellow plaideweave leapt through the courtyard, followed by the tinkling of shattering glass. “Get back!” I ordered on instinct, expecting the angry buzzing of a hundred bees (and some wasps) to overwhelm us all. Sera kept laughing, jumping and dancing through us as Cassandra dropped her charges and everyone took a panicked leap back.

What happened instead of bees (and some wasps) was the overwhelming smell of something _floral_ , followed by an explosion of brightly colored smoke and a shower of petals. It was strangely beautiful, were I honest.

“Tremble before the awesome power of Enchantress Dagna, Terror of the Wastes and Conjurer of Wonders!” cried a lilting voice, and through the haze of pink and green smoke I glimpsed a familiar silhouette waving her arms back and forth in a grandiose gesture.

Coughing and spluttering, I strode forward. Behind me, I heard utter chaos unfolding as Cullen and Cassandra chased after Sera, and the Chargers took the opportunity to scatter. “Dagna!?” I shouted. “Explain!”

“Oh! Hello, Inquisitor. I didn’t realize you were out here.” The friendly dwarf smiled up at me, just as sunny as ever. No, we weren’t standing in a shower of rose petals surrounded by a crowd of dressed-up Chargers with bloody noses--it was just another normal day in the Undercroft. “I’m trying out a costume idea for the ball later this week. What do you think?” She twirled, and for the first time I noticed she was wearing robes. “I’m a mage!”

I wiped at my watering eyes and squinted at her. “A... mage?”

“Yes! I’ve always wanted to be one, you see, but of course dwarves can’t use magic...but then I was talking with Sera and--”

“Sera is responsible for this,” I said. Politeness dictated that probably should have been a question, but I felt we both knew better.

“Oh! Well, no...I mean, she was kind enough to share some ideas with me, but the apparatus is my own invention. This was just a test run, actually!” Dagna leaned forward, glancing about and lowering her voice to a whisper as if she were sharing some great secret. “The real one produces fireballs.” She waggled her eyebrows.

My fingers pinched the bridge of my nose. “Maker’s breath,” I whispered.

Dagna put up her hands. “Don’t worry! I won’t use it indoors!”

“Haha! Should do. Send those prissybritches running!” Sera appeared beside me, winking conspiratorially. Briefly I contemplated calling for Cullen or Cassandra, but thought better of it. “ _Oooh nooo, everything’s on fire! What ever will we do!? Oh Herald, saaaaave us Herald oooh!_ ” Sera wiggled her fingers in the air. I couldn’t tell if she was mimicking flames, or people’s arms flailing over their heads as they screamed and fled. Either one was disturbing.

As usual, part of me wanted to grab her by the front of her scruffy shirt and shake her, but I forced myself to take a deep breath and settled for simply glaring at her instead. “Sera...dare I ask what you’re going to be for the party? An never-ending explosion, perhaps?”

“Ha! Good one. Gotta keep all my bits un-magic’ed, though. Solidarity with my dwarf friend here, yeah?” Sera and Dagna grinned at each other. I cringed, wondering exactly how much chaos this was going to cause in the coming months. “Dressin’ up as the scariest thing. Lady Fusspot the Third sommat. Terrifying, right?”

I crossed my arms. “Right.”

Sera just kept grinning. “Put some fear right in their breeches.”

Dagna clapped her hands excitedly. “And fireballs, too!”

  
I sighed, at a loss for words.  _There had better be a lot of wine at this party,_ I thought.  _I'm going to need every drop of it._


	3. Six Days 'til All Souls'

Leliana twirled in front of the mirror, the bright pink fabric of her gown rustling. “Hmm. Josie, what do you think? Are there too many ruffles? Or not enough?”

Josephine examined the gown carefully. “Hard to say...”

“Not enough, then.” declared Leliana, contemplating her reflection with the same intensity I’d seen her use on a Pride Demon. Josephine snuck me a smile when she wasn’t looking, and I stifled a giggle. Leliana tugged a little at her bodice. “This still isn’t right, either. It should be tighter.”

“Any tighter and you won’t be able to breathe, Leliana,” I said, putting down my needle and thread and stretching my legs out on the bed. It felt so good to _relax_ ; and I couldn’t even remember the last time I attended a dress fitting. Being here with Leliana and Josephine almost felt like being back at home, and I hadn’t realized how badly I missed it. “Oh, and I don’t think anyone can have too many ruffles.”

Leliana made a noise of agreement, nodding into the mirror. “Josie, have they sent up the mask yet?”

Josephine consulted her clipboard, on a table and not in her hands for once. Good to know all I had to do to get her to put it down was ply her with glasses of wine and good snacks. “No...that’s scheduled for later today, unless someone’s come early and not told us.”

“Are you sure anyone is _looking_ for us? Half of Skyhold is either drunk or asleep right now, and my quarters aren’t exactly a popular pitstop for most people.” I said.

“Except the _Commander_ , of course.” said Leliana, a barely suppressed smile on her lips.

I blushed. “That’s different."

“The Inquisitor is right,” said Josephine. “I should go and check to make sure no deliveries have been made during my absence.”

“Don’t be gone too long,” I pleaded, catching her by the arm as she passed by. “This is supposed to be a holiday for _everyone,_ including you. And please, call me Alyssa.”

Josephine looked surprised, but she smiled in spite of it. “Of course, Inq--Alyssa. My apologies. It is a difficult habit to break.” She giggled, fiddling with the cuff of one of her golden sleeves. “I promise my inspection shall be brief. And then...” she glanced around the room, smiling suddenly. “More wine!”

I grinned. "Excellent! That's what I like to hear.” I released her arm and watched her hurry out of the room, looking positively giddy, before returning my attention back to the sewing project in my lap. There was still a lot of stitching to do before it was wearable, but I was making good progress. And I had plenty of spare time now that I wasn’t running all over Thedas trying to murder an ancient Tevinter magister. I picked up the needle again, biting my lip to keep from laughing as I envisioned the look on Cullen’s face when I finally presented him with his costume.

Leliana and I passed a few minutes chatting companionably, trading bits of Skyhold gossip and sipping our wine. She made a few suggestions about places I could hide pockets or where to add a bit of decorative stitching; I advised her where we could possibly fit more ruffles onto her gown. It would be difficult, but I had always been told you can never have too many ruffles.

We stopped when I heard footsteps on the stairs. Only they weren’t just footsteps--they were boots, and heavy ones at that. It sounded like there was metallic armor, too, and all at once a very dangerous sparkle sprang into Leliana’s eyes.

“Could this be the brave Commander, come to visit?” she crooned, grinning at me as she hurried across to the other side of the room.

“What? No! I mean, it’s the middle of the day! What could he possibly--Maker's breath, _where are you going?_ ”

“I’m hiding, of course!” she said, ducking behind one of the huge wardrobes I’d had installed when it had become fashionable for people to start sending me extravagant ball gowns after my dance in Halamshiral. “Get him to say something he’ll never live down at the War Table.”

“ _Leliana!_ ” I hissed. The boots were getting louder and closer now. “I am _not_ embarrassing Cullen so you can have more leverage at the--”

The boots stopped, and a lengthy pause followed. Then I thought I heard them start turning around; then coming back again. Was someone trying to decide whether or not they should disturb me? Shooting one final glare and a rude gesture at the wardrobe Leliana was tucked behind, I turned my head to listen. My heart was racing, and I felt ridiculously anxious all of a sudden; as if I were trespassing in my own room. Foolishness.

“Whoever’s there, you might as well come in!” I shouted, eager to get this over with. If it was the Commander, there was no way I was going to let _anything_ happen where Leliana could see or overhear it--she was an excellent Spymistress, but I refused to be observed in my own quarters. Bad enough she had her ravens “accidentally” stationed below at the entrance, no doubt keeping tabs on who came and went.

I heard a heavy sigh, then the sound of the door unlatching and opening. “Hello? Did I hear you say I could come in?”

“Cassandra!” I cried, recognizing her voice instantly. “Thank the Maker.”

Cassandra’s braided head crested the staircase, her face drawn in a worried frown. “Are you--is everything all right, Inquisitor? You sound...relieved.”

I laughed, running a hand through my hair. “No, no, I’m fine! I was just afraid you were Cullen.”

She paused, clearly confused by this. I saw her glance back at the door and could practically hear her wondering, _Should I ask what she means, or just go back downstairs and pretend this never happened...?_

“Relax, Cassandra; it’s my fault.” Leliana said, stepping out from behind the wardrobe. I expected Cassandra to look shocked, but instead she just rolled her eyes. What exactly did these two say they'd gotten up to in Kirkwall again? Leliana shrugged. “You can’t blame a woman for trying.”

“I can blame you for it very well, as it happens,” I said. “Bad enough I get pointed looks from the recruits, but you? Please buy one of Varric’s novels if you’re that desperate for romantic intrigue.”

Leliana laughed, reuniting herself with her abandoned glass of wine. “What makes you think I’m not helping him research the next one?”

“Oh! Is there to be a next one?” Cassandra asked, surging forward into the room. Her awkwardness had vanished, and all of a sudden here was the gleeful woman I’d chanced upon that one afternoon reading a copy of _Swords and Shields._ “I’ve been asking him, but all he will give me are half-answers! And occasionally something about how no, he will not tell me where the Champion currently is...I haven’t even been asking!” She glared at an insignificant spot on the floor, muttering something. Not for the first time, I worried about Varric’s longevity.

“Are you going to dress up as any of the characters for the party?” Leliana asked, pouring Cassandra some wine.

Cassandra shrugged, accepting the drink. She swirled the liquid and stared into its depths for a moment. “I...I had not thought of that, actually. I am still unsure if I wish to attend.”

“Why not?” I asked, readjusting Cullen’s costume on my lap so I wouldn’t lose the needle in an uncomfortable place. Again. “I think all of Skyhold will be attending, plus at least half of Orlais. And I would hate for you to miss out on the fun.”

“There are security concerns--”

I held up a hand. “Cullen’s already taken care of that. The guards will patrol in shifts, and none of them are allowed more than one cup per hour. _Cassandra._ ” I gave her a pleading look. “We’ve all been through so much. You more than most--both of you, actually.” I gestured to Leliana as well. I had tried not to intrude on their grief over Justinia, but there were some things you just couldn't hide. “Please? Just for a little while! At the very least, you have to see what we’re dressing the Commander up as.” I grinned.

Cassandra looked at me, then to Leliana, who just smiled. Then she sighed. “Very well. Could you...do you think I could be...I mean, from the book...”

I clapped my hands, giggling louder than I probably should have. Wine will do that. “You’re going to look magnificent, Cassandra! Red hair will really suit you, and you’ve already got the sword and the shield. It'll be perfect.”

Leliana patted The Seeker's shoulder. “I know _just_ the thing, Cassandra. Leave it with me.” She tilted her head, examining Cassandra’s hair for a moment. “How do you feel about wigs?”

Before Cassandra could reply, I caught the sound of footsteps again. These were softer, though, and there was no hesitation this time. The door of my quarters swung open for a second time. “Leliana!” called Josephine, sounding breathless.  A moment later, she bounced up the stairs, a look of pure delight on her face. “It’s he--oh! Hello, Lady Pentaghast.”

“Ambassador.” Cassandra nodded stiffly, looking a little unsure. I gave her what I hoped was an encouraging wink, and was glad when she smiled at me and took a sip of her wine.

“Ah!” cried Leliana, rushing forward past our awkward Seeker. She reached out, grasping at the wooden crate Josephine held in her hands. “How did it arrive so quickly!?”

“They already had one in stock; something about a satirical play happening in Verchiel?” said Josephine. “Regardless, the merchant I contacted assured me he could provide one post-haste, but I didn’t want to get your hopes up in case he was exaggerating.”

“Oh, Josie, you’re a treasure!” Leliana started prying open the lid while Josephine held the box steady, both of them practically glowing with excitement. I smiled, eager to see just what this amazing secret of Leliana’s really was.

There was the distinctive snapping of wood, followed by the rustling of straw as Leliana pawed through the packaging. Finally I heard a soft gasp, a murmured “It’s _perfect_ ,” and saw Josephine start grinning all over again. Leliana’s slender fingers reaching up behind her head to tie the mask in place, tying the bright red ribbons together with a tight knot. She turned.

The afternoon sun glinting off pink, ceramic cheeks and delicate little ears. There were even whiskers on either side of her elongated nose, painstakingly taken from some resilient bristle somewhere and jabbed into the sides. The mask covered her face completely, only her cool blue eyes showing through two tiny round holes. I blinked, half expecting her to start making high-pitched squeaking noises.

“You’re...it’s...” I struggled to find words. Or feelings. Or any kind of conscious thought beyond _What is happening right now?_

“..a nug.” Cassandra finished for me, utterly deadpan.

Leliana clapped her hands, bouncing like an excited child on their nameday. “Oh, how I wish the little ones could see me now! Would they still recognize me, I wonder? Perhaps after the festivities I shall save the mask and see if perhaps it will help with their training.”

I reached for my glass of wine. This was going to be a long week.


	4. Five Days 'til All Souls'

“But I already have a face,” Cole mused, picking up a teal-colored mask and turning it end over end.

“It’s a mask, Kid,” said Varric. He perused one end of the table, having already shrugged on an extravagant-looking cloak with fur lining. Like most things, it was made for someone twice his size, but he didn’t care. “You wear them for fun. Or, if you’re Orlesian--for sport.”

Cole turned the mask back over, then brought it up to his face, slipping it up under the brim of his hat. Their two noses hovered inches from each other. “ _Fun,_ ” he drew the word out, as if trying to experience the entire concept of it using only his voice.

“Yes, it was Josephine’s idea.” I said.

Cole let the mask drop, eyes fixing on a nonexistent point in the distance. “He’s dead, and now she breathes; hopes to not worry at night about what she’ll wake up to find; not hear the screaming of the burned in her dreams--no, need a distraction, can’t think like this, can’t feel this...warmth; spiced drinks; colors glittering in the candlelight--a party...” Cole started, staring at me with wide eyes. “It’s a party!”

Varric and I traded a look, neither of us particularly comfortable with the sudden and intimate glimpse into our ambassador’s mind. I hid my feelings with a smile, patting Cole on the shoulder. “That’s right, a party. To make people happy.”

Cole looked back at the mask, frowning at it again. “But none of them are real?”

“Oh the people will be real enough, don’t worry,” said Varric. He fussed with his cloak, picking off a bit of stray fur flicking it back onto the table. “You’ll be sick of them all by the end of the night. I know I will.”

“But none of _them_ are real.” Cole insisted.

“I think he means the spirits, Varric.” I reached out, gently taking the mask from Cole. “They won’t be real, Cole. It’s...it’s like a symbol. A ritual. I’m... sorry?” I couldn’t tell if he was sad or relieved. Did spirits make friends with each other in The Fade? Or enemies? Or...anything?

Cole looked at the mask in my hands, tilting his head and nearly catching Varric’s ponytail with the brim of his hat. He nodded, thin blond bangs falling across his eyes. “All those people, clustered and dreaming...better that way. They’ll never suspect, if it’s all just pretend.”

I had no idea who “they” were, or what it was we’d never suspect, but I had a feeling asking for specifics would be a waste of time. With Cole, he could be picking up on a half-baked story idea of Varric’s, or someone’s insecurities in the tavern. Cole didn’t seem alarmed, so it probably wasn’t the secret itinerary of some assassin bent on disrupting our party. Probably.

I patted him on the shoulder again, turning my attention back to the selection of masks before us. The table we were at was just one of several currently arranged side-by-side in the Great Hall, replacing our usual spread of food and drink for passing nobility. There were a dozen of them, all told: Some devoted to completed costumes, others to luxurious fabrics for those who wanted to craft their own. Several of Leliana’s people stood at the edges of the room, offering advice for what might look or fit best...and if someone just happened to let slip an interesting bit of gossip or information, so much the better.

The rest of the tables were devoted to ribbons, accessories, and jewelry, all under the watchful eye of Josephine herself. It warmed my heart to see her bright smile and excited flush on her cheeks as she darted from person to person, righting a crooked diadem here and suggesting a certain shape of amulet there. Our good ambassador was teetering on the edge of obsession, determined to make sure that every person and their costume had the perfect accoutrements. Watching her flit back and forth, offering glowing compliments and the gentlest of reprimands was a delight. I thought on what Cole had said, and hoped that from now on, Josephine would only dream of pleasant things.

I picked up a new mask, this one covered in swirls of blue set upon black leather and dotted with what I hoped were fake rubies. Tentatively, I slid it over my head. “Varric, does this match my hair?”

Varric glanced up. “Not really. It’s still the wrong shade of red...try that purple one again.”

I sighed, setting the mask back down. “Maker’s breath, how does the Orlesian court do this?”

“It’s quite simple, darling,” called a familiar voice. I turned to see Vivienne entering the Hall, clad in  stunning silver and flame-orange robes with matching boots and henin. Her mask, of course, was perfect. “Think of it as dressing for any special occasion--after all, you wouldn’t wear a ballgown to a dragon fight, would you my dear?”

“My brief cameos in Iron Bull’s questionable attempts at literature notwithstanding; no, I suppose I wouldn’t.” I flicked away a strand of hair which the mask had disturbed. “Are you attending the festivities, Vivienne? Or will you be called away to Val Royeux by then?”

Vivienne joined us properly, exchanging nods with Varric and ignoring Cole utterly. She tutted at me quietly. “My dear, do you honestly think I would miss one of Ambassador Montilyet’s parties? That woman is gifted; besides which, it is never wise to remove oneself on the eve of a new trend being set. The Sunburst Throne has waited months already; a few more days will not damage it.” She smiled. “I have no doubt the events of this party will be felt throughout Orlais for years to come.”

I glanced back at the masks. Wonderful. If I hadn’t been anxious _before..._

Vivienne followed my gaze, wrinkling her nose slightly. “My dear, why are you out here picking from the tables? These are meant for your followers, not for _you._ ”

“I...” I wasn’t sure what to say. Now that she mentioned it, Josephine and Leliana had been suspiciously evasive when I’d asked for their opinions on what I should dress as. Maker, surely they weren’t...? I bit my lip, considering the possibilities.

“Iron Lady, I’ll have you know that I’ve started at least five different trends back in Kirkwall.” said Varric, flourishing his overlong robe and narrowly avoiding getting it tangled in Cole’s legs. “Granted, they were all at The Hanged Man--but you never know where greatness is lying in wait.”

Vivienne raised an eyebrow. “From what I’ve heard of Kirkwall and this tavern you’re so fond of, I would guess most of the lying is done out on the sticky, ill-used floor.”

Varric grimaced, looking away. “And she has a point.”

“I like floors,” Cole added eagerly. “They talk if you listen. Always in the same places.”

“That’s called ‘creaking’, Cole. Not something most people enjoy listening to,” I said. “And Vivienne, I promise I’ll check with Josephine and Leliana about my costume.”

Vivienne smiled. “Excellent choice, my dear. Sister Nightingale is especially skilled at The Game--I’m sure she can come up with something appropriate for the occasion if you find yourself at loose ends.” She glanced over her shoulder, raising a hand in greeting towards a middle-aged woman wearing Chantry robes at the other end of the Great Hall. “If you’ll excuse me, I do believe duty calls.” She gave us a nod that managed to feel magnanimous and dismissive all at once before moving away.

“Well, that was...bracing.” said Varric, adjusting the cape’s clasp so it wouldn’t catch in any of his beloved chest hair. “I wonder what she'll be going as. High Dragon, maybe? Or perhaps she'll skip the preamble and just pour herself directly into the poison ring." He sighed. "Shit, I feel the sudden need to assert myself. Think I’ll go see if table three has any scepters I can wave authoritatively at people. C’mon, Kid. Let’s go find you something festive to put on that hat of yours.”

“It had a star once, but I lost it.” said Cole.

“Stars are like that. You’ll see once you start reading poetry. Now, what would you say to--”

**_“Varric Tethras!”_ **

Several people--including, I am ashamed to say myself--shrieked and jumped at the booming voice suddenly reverberating through the Hall. There were several loud _clangs_ as various crowns, scepters, boots, and suits of armor hit the floor, and I saw the glint of several daggers being drawn. Instinctively, I reached behind me for my own weapon, only to remember the hard way that I was wearing my casual day-armor. Shit.

I was grabbing the spare knife I kept hidden at my belt when I heard Varric laugh, smacking Cole conspiratorially on the back. “It can’t be,” he said, and I watched his whole face light up. Oh no. That could only mean...

“ _Hawke!_ ”

There was no doubt about it: Alexis Hawke, The Champion of Kirkwall herself, striding into the Great Hall as if it were her favorite tavern. Sun glinting in her orange-red hair, eerie teal eyes bright with laughter and her staff crackling with energy, Hawke winked at a scandalized Vivienne as she passed.

“ ** _Varric_** \--oh, sorry; forgot it takes a moment for that spell to cut off.” Hawke slipped her staff behind her back and jogged the rest of the way, gripping Varric in a tight hug as soon as she was close enough. From behind his back, she grinned up at me. “And the Inquisitor as well! Lady Trevelyan, you’re looking lovely as usual. Shoot any archdemons today, or should I come back in an hour?”

“Serah Hawke,” I said, smiling despite myself. As usual, she was hard to resist. “No archdemons yet, I’m afraid. Though it’s possible someone will dress up as one before the week is out.”

Hawke laughed. “Please tell me that’s what Commander Cullen is going as.”

“Oh no,” I said, grinning. “We have something very special in mind for him.” Hawke raised an eyebrow, looking intrigued.

“He doesn’t understand why you won’t just let him hide,” murmured Cole.

“Forgive me; this is Cole, one of my companions.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Cole, have you met Hawke before?”

They shared a look; Alexis curious and polite, Cole faraway and distracted. “Yes,” he said. “But she doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“Ah, the story of my life,” said Hawke, though underneath her breezy dismissal I thought I noticed a small frown cross her features. She turned back to Varric before I could be sure. “And what’s this? Varric, did someone go and turn you into a monarch while I wasn’t looking?” Hawke threw up her arms and looked around the room. “Andraste’s dimpled ass--who gave the dwarf a kingdom to rule!?” She shook her head in mock dismay. “You’ll all rue this day, mark my words.”

“Serah Hawke!” Josephine joined us, gesturing excitedly with her quill. “What an unexpected honor!”

Hawke grinned, bowing slightly. “Ambassador Montilyet! My apologies for arriving on such short notice, but I came across a caravan headed your way and one thing led to another...as I’m sure Varric will tell you, I am helpless in the face of a party.”

“She absorbs free food and drink like a desert soaks up rain,” Varric confirmed.

Josephine smiled. “You’ve come to the right place, then! We shall have plenty of both. May I arrange quarters for you, Serah Hawke?”

“You may. It will be me and one other.”

“Ha! Broody’s with you? I may have to tell them to stock extra wine.”

Hawke grinned. “Stuck to me like a briar on a stocking. And about as prickly, too--not that I’d have him any other way. He’s seeing to the horses and probably trying to glare a hole in your Horsemaster’s head. Sorry about that, Inquisitor.” She gave me a pointed look for some reason I couldn’t fathom. “I keep trying to teach him the social graces but then he does this thing with his hips and...” she sighed dramatically, shrugging. “It’s all over after that.”

I blushed, looking helplessly at Cole, who looked just as lost at the sudden turn in conversation as I was. Demons, dragons, and abominations we could handle--apparently Alexis Hawke was an entirely different matter.

“You scared the shit out of half the Inquisition’s forces just now, by the way.” said Varric. “What happened to wanting to stay out of sight?”

She shrugged. “Just trying to keep balance, Varric. Last time was fun, all cloak and dagger and seriousness. But now you and Cassandra have done your yelling, presumably, so on the way here I thought-- _they’ve seen your gorgeous face a few times now, Hawke; no one’s going to be shocked._ And you know me--I can’t abide being uninteresting. Besides!” Hawke declared, grinning. “How else was I supposed to find you in this place? Maker’s breath, it’s enormous!”

Varric laughed. “You could have just asked.”

She snorted, making a dismissive gesture. “What fun would that have been?”

“Ahem,” Josephine cleared her throat politely, and I silently thanked her for regaining control of the conversation before Hawke and Varric completely ran away with it. “Perhaps I should show you to your quarters?”

Hawke glanced back towards the entrance of the Great Hall. “Actually...after I gave him the slip to visit Skyhold the first time, Fenris has been terribly fussy. Can’t go more than twenty minutes without him checking in to make sure I'm where he last left me.” She darted forward suddenly, slipping her arm around mine and lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “But if we hurry, I think I can use you giving me a tour of the place as an excuse to catch up without him griping about security arrangements.” Hawke winked at me, and I tried not to imagine what was going to happen to me once this Fenris fellow found out I was helping to keep him apart from his lover.

“We can...go up on one of the balconies?” I suggested.

“Perfect! I’m sure there’s a lengthy and incredibly gory story of conquest that will take you at least an hour to tell me.” Hawke was already dragging me forward, despite having no idea where I actually wanted to take her. I turned my head, mouthing the words _Help me_ to Varric, Cole, and Josephine; but Varric just shrugged like this was a tragedy he had no hand in making, Josephine was hiding her face behind her clipboard trying not to laugh, and Cole was actually _smiling_ , which unnerved me in a way I didn’t have words for.

Useless, the lot of them.

Hawke tapped me on the arm. “Now Alyssa--I hope I can call you Alyssa, it does get so tiring throwing everyone’s titles about--while we’re exploring, you _must_ tell me what this surprise costume for Commander Cullen is. Will he be shirtless? Wearing incredibly tight trousers? Spare no detail, please. This is very important.”


	5. Four Days 'til All Sous'

Morrigan eyed me suspiciously. ‘’tis this necessary? I am due to travel in but a few days.”

I rearranged my grip on the gown and bag of fake jewelry I had brought out for her. Josephine had insisted on something _classic_ for our defeater of archdemons and Occult Advisor to Empress Celene; though if I were being honest I imagined Morrigan dressing as anyone but herself to be a step down. “The party will be happening anyway, so why not join in?” I said, putting on my best pleading expression. “You were instrumental in helping us defeat Corypheus, and you deserve to be part of the celebration!”

“Besides,” said Hawke, leaning on her staff and grinning. “You’d look fantastic in it.”

Morrigan raised an eyebrow. “Inquisitor, there has been nothing but celebrating for almost a week now, and I fail to see what the point of any additional gluttony and drunkenness is. Furthermore, I fail to see why _I_ am necessary to the proceedings, especially when I do not wish to partake!”

“Ugh, you sound just like Cullen.” I murmured.

She glared, crossing her arms over her chest. “My, my; quite a compliment indeed to be compared to _templars_. What kind of praise shall you shower me with next, Inquisitor?”

“ _Ex_ -templar,” I corrected without thinking.

“There you have it!” said Hawke. “Join the party, and don’t be like a templar. Or ex-templar, whichever. None of them know how to have any fun. Simple, really. You dress up, wiggle your fingers at any party-goers you don’t like the looks of, stuff yourself on those little cakes Ambassador Montilyet is always ordering and stick it to the entire Templar Order in the process!” Hawke grinned, looking as if she’d just figured out the world’s greatest puzzle.

“Master Tethras truly did not do your description justice,” Morrigan drawled.

I bit my lip, trying not to let my growing frustration show. It had been an exhausting day, and I would have very much preferred to be in my quarters curled up next to the fireplace with a book rather than standing out here in the cold trying to convince a grumpy apostate to dress up for a holiday. “Look, Morrigan--you don’t even have to stay for the whole thing,” I said. “Just mingle a little, have some wine and good food, then disappear wherever you like. But if you don’t show up then Josephine is going to pout, and by the Maker I refuse to let that happen under my own damn roof.”

Morrigan fixed me with an appraising gaze, her sharp golden eyes boring into my own. I squared my shoulders and stared back, determined to show her I wasn’t backing down from this fight. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Hawke biting her lip and looking for all the world as if she were stifling laughter.

Morrigan sighed, loud and long-suffering. “Very well. You have convinced me. Thank your Maker for it later, or whatever it is you Chantry-types do in your spare time.” She glanced at the gown in my hands. “What part is Lady Montilyet so eager for me to fulfill?”

I offered up the gown, not even bothering to hide my excitement and relief. “Josephine thought you might like to be Queen Asha, of Antiva. She is a powerful figure, a woman of immense reputation and fortitude. It’s rumored her careful marriages have created blood ties as far as Tevinter. It is a very prestigious role!”

Morrigan threw her head back and laughed. “I? A _mother?_ Were you asleep when we met Flemeth, or simply not paying attention? Truly, Inquisitor, your sense of humor knows no bounds.”

Was that a _no_ , or...? I remembered Flemeth quite vividly, as it happened, and Morrigan had a point. “Perhaps that’s...part of its charm?” I ventured, trying and failing to keep an embarrassed flush from my cheeks. I hadn’t mentioned I’d helped Josephine decide on who to choose, or that I’d hoped Morrigan would be at least accepting of the idea, if not excited by it.

Morrigan laughed again, softer this time. “No doubt you and your ambassador meant well, Inquisitor, but your memories are terribly short. What need have I of a costume?”

“Well it is a costume _party,_ ” said Hawke.

Morrigan rolled her eyes. “Perhaps one day someone can finally teach you the finer points of subtlety, Serah Hawke.” Alexis was already snort-laughing as if Morrigan had just cracked a great joke, but Morrigan ignored her, waving a hand across her own body. What was she...?

A bright green light sprang up around her, piercing and bright. I winced, looking away, and heard several loud gasps from the other people in the courtyard.

Hawke gasped. “Oh _shit._ ”

Instinctively, I took a step back. Right in front of me where Morrigan had been standing was now an enormous spider; nearly the size of a horse and with legs as long as my own. “That’s...I suppose that’s one option,” I said, trying not to stammer. I’d seen--and felt--far too many giant spiders up close to be at all comfortable with this. More than anything I wanted to grab my bow and start shooting, but I had a feeling if I showed any fear now, either Morrigan or Hawke would never let me live it down.

“You have _got_ to teach me how to do that,” said Hawke. She reached out and touched one of Morrigan’s shiny, dark-green legs, and got an angry lunge for her trouble. Inwardly, I cringed at the sight of her pincers working back and forth. “Easy, now! We’re all chitinous friends here.” Hawke backed away, grinning. “Maker’s breath, this is amazing! Varric is never going to believe this!”

I shot her a look. “Varric saw her turn into an archdemon, remember? And a crow. And possibly a dozen other things I wasn’t present for. I doubt this is going to impress him.”

Hawke looked scandalized. “But Alyssa, none of those things were _giant spiders._ ”

The urge to bury my face in my hands and scream until all of this nonsense went away was overwhelming, but my arms were still full of the now-useless gown. Instead I ended up looking down at Morrigan, and I could have sworn I saw a glint of _amusement_ in her many eyes. I looked away quickly, trying not to make a disgusted sound. “Morrigan, I think you’ve made your point, perhaps it’s time for us to--”

“Wait,” said Hawke, holding up a hand. “Does anyone else hear...roaring?”

I paused. She was right, for once. “Now that you mention it...” I turned, trying to find the source of the noise, just in time to see one of the courtyard doors slamming open. No. My jaw dropped.

“ **BWWRAAAAARRGGGGHHHH!** ” bellowed The Iron Bull, leaping through the open door and skidding to a halt so he could throw his head and arms back, shouting up into the sky. Several people screamed and ran, no doubt unprepared for the sudden appearance of a Qunari Reaver in the midst of their prayers and quiet games of chess. Bull had a feverish look in his eye, and from the flush on his cheeks I wondered if he hadn’t just been running all over Skyhold. In front of him was Krem, brandishing a wooden sword and...wearing fake horns?

“Ha ha! You won’t stun me that easily, foul beast! Take _this!_ ” Krem cried, jumping forward to bat at Bull’s bare chest with the blunted tip of the sword. It was then that I noticed Bull was covered in what appeared to be fake scales, all painstakingly adhered to his arms, face, neck, and back. As he turned to swat at Krem, I saw he even had a long, scaly tail attached to the butt of his trousers. Someone had also painted a rather sloppy-looking fireball in the middle of his chest, and I wondered if it was supposed to be a warning or a suggestion.

“Ooh! He’s a dragon!” said Hawke, tucking her staff into the crook of her arm so she could applaud. “Damn, why didn’t I think of being a dragon?”

Now Bull was roaring again, and vaulting over the stone bannister separating the courtyard from the entrances into Skyhold’s interior. Krem followed, and it was then that I saw he was wearing an eyepatch in addition to the horns. He had also traded in his usual armor for a loose shirt and billowing pants, which made him look a lot like...

“Oh,” I whispered, suddenly realizing what I was looking at.

“‘tis a wonder we are not all dead and Corypheus sitting upon a throne of our bodies,” said Morrigan, suddenly beside me and in human form once again. Her abrupt reappearance made me jump, and I tried to cover it with a nervous smile and a shrug. “They all seemed normal enough when I first met them.” I said.

“Mmm. Truly?”

Krem’s hasty dive forward caused him to slip, and Bull wasted no time. Leaping to the side, the “dragon” caught Krem by the arm and eagerly started chomping on it. The courtyard’s attention was rapt. “Aagh!” cried Krem, slapping a hand over his heart and reeling backwards as he let his sword dangle from his fingers. “Woe! Damnation! Oh, _the pain!_ ”

Bull released Krem’s arm, glaring at the Charger. “Hey, I don’t talk like that!”

“Ha ha! You’ll have to be smarter than that, beast!” all at once the sword was back in his hand, and with a flourish, Krem “stabbed” Bull right in the heart. Bull looked less than impressed. “Better open the kegs, boys,” Krem said, pitching his voice low and rumbly. The impression wasn’t bad, if I were honest. “We got ourselves a dragon to roast!”

“Oh well done! Well done!” said Hawke, clapping even louder now. Bull and Krem both looked up, grinning widely as they saw who it was. They also caught sight of me. “ _Boss!_ ” they both cried in unison.

  
“Maker’s breath,” I muttered. “What have I created?”


	6. Three Days 'til All Souls'

“Candy? For All Souls’?” Hawke asked, reaching out and popping yet another one of the little treats into her mouth. She winked at the cook, who was glaring. “I like the way your ambassador thinks.”

I shrugged. “Josephine thought the children might like it, and it didn’t seem very sensible to have cakes and wine but draw the line at candy.”

“Did you say there will be _children?_ ” growled a third voice which was surprisingly close to my shoulder. I bit my tongue, forcing myself not to keep smiling and not jump. Did this Fenris person ever make any damn _noise_ when he walked? Maker. And I had thought Solas was bad.

“Yes, when the Breach was sealed, a lot of our soldiers wrote to their families about our victory. Quite understandably, a lot of them thought they'd never see each other again, so we began hosting a lot of reunions. They’ve been steadily joining us for the celebrations ever since.” I stepped away, putting some distance between me and Fenris. Hawke had been only too happy to share stories with me about her lover’s abilities, and how many times he’d used his lyrium markings to put his hands around some miscreant’s heart. She’d assured me he’d never do such a thing to a friend of hers, but I’d had enough of the Fade and lyrium and magic to last me a lifetime. Right now, that meant standing on the other side of the candy table while keeping a polite smile on my face.

“I don’t see why you’ve allowed this,” said Fenris, glaring at me almost as hard as the cook was still glaring at Hawke as she took yet another candy. “Surely this place is too dangerous for families.”

“Commander Cullen has taken great pains to oversee their safety,” I said, giving his nasty look right back to him. He looked like he was gargling gurgut’s piss every time he talked to me, and I was getting tired of it. “As have Sister Nightingale and Cassandra. We have things well in hand. Besides, no where is completely safe, Serah Fenris.”

He hated it when I gave him the honorary. Which of course meant that I did it at every possible opportunity, especially when he was questioning the competence of my people. You don't stride into my fortress and then start insulting it; not on my watch. Hawke, meanwhile, thought my annoying him was completely hilarious; which meant no sooner had the word _Serah_ left my mouth than Hawke nearly choked on her third candy. I could have sworn I saw the cook grin a little.

“Don’t worry, Fenris,” Hawke said once she’d recovered her dignity. “I’m sure the Inquisitor won’t make you talk to any _scary children._ ” She patted him on the back with one hand and wiggled her fingers with the other. Fenris gave her the same look he’d given me, but she just kept grinning. How were these two together again...?

I made some quiet apologies to the cook--surreptitiously grabbing a few more candies on my way out in case Hawke got peckish again--and ushered us all away from the kitchens. Leaving was a relief; everyone was pulling double-shifts as the big night drew nearer and I could swear I’d walked through dragon’s fire that was cooler than that damn kitchen. Still, everyone’s excitement for the holiday was catching, and it was nice to feel an adrenaline rush that wasn’t related to saving the world or trying not to die horribly.

We made our way outside into the cool air of the central courtyard. People looked up nervously at the sound of the door opening; not everyone had fully recovered from Bull and Krem’s little _show_ yesterday. To make matters worse, the two of them had hidden their costumes somewhere in the fortress, and were now using them to terrorize Skyhold at random. Just since yesterday, they’d popped into the tavern, the Undercroft, the Throne Room, the Rookery and even Cullen’s office. I caught Bull after that last one and made it clear my quarters were off-limits on pain of death.

“So, Fenris...what are you planning to dress as for the celebration?” I asked.

He grunted, still refusing to look right at me. “Someone having a good time,” he muttered.

“Oh quit being such a grump,” said Hawke. She nudged him in the chest with her elbow. “The Inquisitor and her team have gone to a great deal of trouble for this event. You could at least pretend to stop pretending you aren’t enjoying yourself.”

“I am not here for _enjoyment_ , I am here because you insisted on visiting.”

“Ignore him,” said Hawke, grinning back at me as we walked. “He’s deathly afraid that someday, it will be revealed that he actually has fun once in awhile, and then no one will want to have broody babies in his honor anymore.”

“I do not brood!”

“That’ll be the day,” said a new voice. I looked over to see Varric striding towards us, the smirk he’d been wearing since Hawke had arrived still firmly in place. “I come bearing gifts!”

“Ooh!” Hawke put her hands together, wiggling in excitement. “Varric, your timing is perfect. Fenris won’t let anyone have any fun and poor Alyssa only managed to grab a handful of candy before we left."

I stared. “How did you...”

Hawke just winked at me.

“Broody? Not letting anyone have any fun? Tsk, tsk. I thought Isabela and I cured him of that last time we were all at the Hanged Man.”

Despite the breeze playing in my hair, it was suddenly as if all the air had gone out of the world. Fenris I had expected to be standoffish, but the abrupt change in Hawke’s demeanor caught me off guard. Now she had the same expression on her face that Vivienne got whenever someone mentioned nugs. Or Morrigan. For his part, Varric also looked a bit lost, though it was fleeting. “Sorry, Hawke. Being away from Kirkwall means talking about...well, you know, and I guess I got used to...”

Hawke held up a silencing hand. “It’s fine, Varric. Have you...” she sighed, glancing at Fenris, who for once only looked sort of neutral and not actively upset. “Has there been any news?”

Varric shrugged. “Nothing you don’t already know. Though if I’m honest, I half expect her to show up here for the party.”

“She won’t if she knows what’s good for her,” snarled Fenris.

“If it’s not too much trouble, could we please not murder anyone at the All Soul’s celebration?” I said, stepping forward and crossing my arms. “It’s really not that kind of party. Especially not when I have no idea who it is you’re talking about.”

“I can fill you in later,” said Varric. “I mentioned her back at Haven once, but it was awhile ago. You've probably just forgotten. Lots of weird shit’s happened since then.”

“She’s an old friend of ours,” said Hawke.

Fenris grunted. “ _Friend_ is rather generous.”

“Yes, well, anyway,” said Varric, digging his hands into his pockets. Bianca wobbled a little on his back, but did not fall. “I mentioned gifts, didn’t I?”

All at once, Hawke was back to her old self. “You did!” She rushed forward, snatching at whatever it was Varric had hidden away. The dwarf grinned, snatching his hands away from her as she tried desperately to sneak a peek at what he had. Fenris rolled his eyes.

“Is it what I asked for? Where’d you find it? Oh Maker’s breath, Varric! You’re infuriating-- _hold still!_ ”

“Not until you ask politely, like a good apostate mage Champion.”

Hawke stood in front of him, hands on her hips, glaring with the greatest amount of feigned wrath I had ever seen. “The whole point of being an apostate, Varric, is that you don’t have to ask nicely for _anything._ ”

“Are they like this every time?” I whispered to Fenris.

He sighed, for once not looking cross with me. “Yes. Actually, this is fairly tame. They must like it here."

“Oh lucky me,” I murmured.

After what felt like an age, Varric and Hawke finally stopped their verbal sparring and Varric opened his hands to reveal...empty gloved palms.

“Uh oh,” muttered Fenris. “He’s done it now.”

“ _Varric Tethras!_ ” even without the spell she’d used to make an entrance in my Great Hall, Hawke’s voice was still imposing. And she was not happy. “I have half a mind to throw you over my shoulder and drop you over a battlement!”

Varric just grinned. “Now that would be a terrible waste of not only an incredibly handsome dwarf, but _these_ little beauties,” In one fluid motion, he reached behind him and pulled out something that had been hiding behind Bianca. No wonder she’d been wobbling a little. I frowned, confused, as he held out two large black horns, each one with two gold bands halfway down the length.  “They came in this morning. Had to polish them up a bit and reshape the tips a little, but all in all I’d say they were worth the sovereigns.”

“Oh Varric,” Hawke breathed. “ _They’re perfect._ ”

“Are those...Qunari horns?” I asked.

“Alexis, _no._ ” said Fenris.

But it was too late--Hawke already had them in her hands, putting them up to either side of her head and thrusting her chin forward. She put on a serious expression, glaring down at us like we were all something she might have scraped off the bottom of her boot. “You said something, bas?”

Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s not what...oh, nevermind.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Again. Still. Perpetually, really.”

  
“I’m the Arishok!” declared Hawke, beaming at us proudly. She homed in on Fenris, who looked like he was praying for a hole in the earth to open and swallow him whole. “What?” she asked. “Too soon?”


	7. Two Days 'till All Souls'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief switch in POVs for this one. Brace yourselves. ;)

The moon is bright, and cold as the night sky it hangs in. No matter what else distracts him, his eyes always find their way back to it. Helplessly, he stares into its light, his thoughts wandering to places they should not. He has no time for this--there is so much to do, _so much_ \--and yet here he is, sitting on the damp ground as though he were some lost Dalish hunter, staring up at the moon. Just another elf offering silent wonder up to gods who cannot hear it, nor possess the will to care.

They must hate him now, Solas thinks. The helpful apostate turned traitorous coward, as so many of them expected. Gone after the battle, when he should have stayed. Should have been celebrating with the rest. Instead...silence; absence. Broken pieces of a treasure, scattered on the ground. Years of planning, gone in an instant.

Perhaps not. Perhaps they do not think of him at all.  But it has been a long time since he was last proved wrong about people--particularly _human_ people--and he is confident when he envisions their disgust, even as it pains him.

He forgets about Corypheus. It is easily done. After all, he was not like the others; he was too old, too twisted. These new ones are younger, easier to predict. Their hunger is a smolder and not a climbing flame. They hate him, and always hated him, and there is no question of it. They have not found the edges of their hate yet. Soon.

By now, his absence cannot have gone unremarked, even if Sister Nightingale is far too clever to let anyone show it outwardly. The Inquisition openly mourning his departure would attribute far too much credit to a simple apostate. An elven one, no less; can there be any greater sin? No, of course not. Simply existing is enough to enrage them, much less refusing to fit their carefully carved molds. Even here, in the back-end of beyond, Solas has heard the news about Madame de Fer assuming the mantle of Divine. He knows it will not be long before the humans fall back on their precious Circles, and it has never been clearer that there is no place for him at their table of heroes. Was there ever?

He picks a bit of grass from his sleeve, thinking of Sister Nightingale again. There has been silence from her. Not even so much as a lonely raven dipping through the skies. Her thirst for knowledge rivals even his own, which means it is not an independent decision. She had been asked to turn away, and there was only one person in all the world that she would obey. The Inquisitor.

Had Trevelyan expected him to leave? Or did she simply not care if he was gone? Solas was surprised at how much that particular possibility stung. He had known from the start what must be done, and had been relieved it was a human who had touched the Anchor. If it had been an elf, he might have run the risk of caring too much; might have gotten pulled into how _fated_ it would feel.

But it had been a human woman--one of their nobility, no less; if you could call their mess of muddled bloodlines and fretful titles _noble_ \--and so he thought himself safe. She would stumble through the darkness like the child that she was, and he would be there to pick her up point her in the right direction again. She was even so simple to have fallen for that stuffed suit of armor commanding her forces; as if they hadn’t all seen _that_ coming. Then again, maybe they hadn't. After all, he'd been the only one regularly in the solar that led to the commander's office. Solas snorted at the thought. He was fairly certain the commander didn’t even _see_ him--he was just a pair of ears and a staff as far as Cullen was concerned. Once a templar, always a templar.

Trevelyan had seen him. Somehow. Not all of him, of course--that was far beyond her abilities, even as clever as she was--but what she had seen would be enough to turn away most. And yet she never did. Despite her ignorance there was a sort of infinite _forgiveness_ in her that surprised him. She had welcomed Cole without a second thought, even as Vivienne had insisted over and over he was a demon. He clenched and unclenched his hands, remembering the sharp expectation in his gut that Trevelyan was going to send him away just like any other good Chantry pet would. Trevelyan and Madame de Fer were practically made for each other; yet there she was, defying the woman without a second thought. Cole had helped, and that meant Cole stayed. End of story.

She did that a lot. So many times, in fact, that Solas found he couldn’t quite remember them all. He’d gotten used to it, and now that he was no longer there he found that, horror of horrors, he _missed_ her. Solas barked a laugh, startling some of the birds roosting in the tree above him. Now here was bitter irony. Him, missing a human woman? Now that was just sad.

A breeze stirred the crumpled paper at his hip, and he reached out to catch it just before it fluttered away. The invitation to Skyhold’s grand All Souls’ Day celebration had caught in his toes as he’d skirted the King’s Road briefly, hoping to avoid a nasty run-in with some rogue Venatori that had broken camp along his path through the woods. He’d almost dove right into the middle of them before remembering he was alone now, and it was wise not to tempt fate. He laughed--softer, this time--as he realized he missed _that_ too. Trevelyan had made him feel invincible; made them all feel invincible. Important. Special. _More._ He had not gotten to say goodbye, and it bothered him.

Besides, there would be candy. It had been a long time since anyone had given him candy.


	8. One Day 'til All Souls'

Breakfast was already half over by the time Cullen and I arrived in the dining hall, both of us foggy-headed with too little sleep at all the wrong hours. We’d glowered our way through the knowing looks and quiet snickers, grabbing our food and sitting down at one of the more out-of-the-way tables by the far wall. I was doing a little better now that I’d had my morning cup of tea, but Cullen still looked like a thunderstorm waiting to break.  

Preparations for the upcoming celebration were unfolding even here, with fretful servants running back and forth at high speed to make sure all of the tables had appropriate decorations. After a few minutes and several bites of berry scone, I found myself staring at an almost perfectly symmetrical cluster of tiny gourds arranged _just so_ in front of me, accompanied by the most profuse apologies for not having everything ready before my arrival. I reassured them as best I could, trying not to be too disappointed at the lack of timely gourd organization in my morning.

Partway through a second scone and another much-needed cup of tea, a familiar glint of gold and purple caught my eye. I was surprised to see Josephine here so late in the morning, especially with so many costume choices and last minute touch-ups to the Great Hall to oversee. She caught my eye immediately, and I could tell she’d been specifically seeking me out. That meant she either had a juicy bit of gossip to share, or I was about to hear something lengthy and detailed about fabric. Still, there were worse fates. I smiled, waving her over, nudging Cullen none-too-subtly in the leg as he failed to conceal a soft sigh of disappointment around his mouthful of porridge.

“Inquisitor! Commander. Good morning to you both,” said Josephine, sliding into the chair opposite mine. “Ah! I see they’ve begun setting out the table decor. Excellent. That’s been neglected for far too long already.”

“They’re very...cute?” I said, taking another sip of tea.

“Oh yes. Not the usual fare for this kind of celebration, I know; but after conferring with Madame de Fer yesterday, I decided it shouldn’t just be our guests who get to enjoy a bit of colorful decor. Besides, you never know when one of the nobles will take it upon themselves to start _wandering._ Rubbing shoulders with the servants and the soldiers is an enduring source of amusement to many of the upper classes, I’m sad to say.”

I thought back on times my family members had encouraged me to dress plainly and try befriending the staff despite how obvious of a farce it was, and silently thanked Josephine for never missing a detail, no matter how inglorious.

“I can’t believe the festivities are almost upon us!” Josephine continued, her face a combination of excitement and worry. “Oh, where has the week gone? If only I had just a _few_ more days...”

I tried not to choke on my tea. “Days? Maker’s breath, Josephine, this has been the longest weeks of my life. There wouldn’t be a single hair left on my head if it went on for any longer.” I leaned forward, lowering my voice slightly, despite the emptiness of the hall. “Did you know that Sera and Dagna are running around Skyhold throwing flower-scented _smoke-bombs_ at people? Then yesterday I hear that they’ve teamed up with Bull and Krem to make some sort of traveling play where Lady Fusspot the Third gets kidnapped by the dragon and Krem and Dagna both rescue her and end up in some kind of bizarre love triangle!”

“And who gets called when they show up to cause havoc?” added Cullen, having apparently finished his mouthful. “Me and Cassandra. Or worse, me and Aly--ahem, the Inquisitor; which means neither of us get any time to do any actual _work._ ”

I snorted. “I’d have thought you’d be grateful I can’t get any work done this week, considering what it is I’m working on,” I said.

Cullen just _looked_ at me. “Maker's breath, are you seriously going to make me wear that monstrosity?”

“I am now you’ve insulted it! I’ve worked very hard on that costume. There are some who would pay your weight in sovereigns to receive something _hand-stitched_ by the Inquisitor, you know.”

He sneered at his bowl, shoveling another spoonful of porridge into his mouth. “Good,” he mumbled as he chewed. “You can make _them_ wear it.”

I shook my head, taking another sip of tea. “Don't make me sic Hawke on you again.”

Josephine looked stricken. “Please, Inquisitor, forgive me. I-I never meant for any of this to be an additional burden on you, or the Commander! Neither of you are required to attend the festivities _of course_ , especially not if you’ve changed your mind about--”

I held up a hand. “No, no. That’s isn’t what I meant. I’m sorry, I think I’m just tired. And I _know_ he is.” I nodded to Cullen, who was grudgingly nodding in agreement. Sometimes it was easy to forget he didn’t understand that when other people were having _fun,_ he also was allowed to enjoy himself instead of just upholding the rules all the time. “There’s been so much excitement, Josephine, and you’ve done such incredible work. How could I not attend? Skyhold has been completely transformed by you. It’s amazing.”

 _Amazing_ was an understatement, if I were honest. I had been expecting changes in the Great Hall, Solar, and perhaps even the inner courtyard... but Josephine had gone far beyond that. The entire tavern was covered in decorations now, both inside and out; The Rookery looked like something out of an old folktale, with Leliana somehow managing to sneak up behind you no matter how hard you tried to keep your back to a wall; even Cullen’s office had received a surreptitious once-over, with adorable little banners and ribbons fluttering around his door when the breeze picked up. He could grumble all he liked, but I knew they cheered him up sometimes.

Josephine smiled, relaxing at my reassurances. “Thank you, Inquisitor. I appreciate that. And I promise, after this week, no more balls or galas or celebrations. We can get back to business as usual.”

“Cullen will be so relieved. He may actually start coming out of his office before sundown,” I said, sneaking a glance at him just as he took another bite. He tried giving me an unimpressed look, but I caught his blush before he could turn away in time. “Assuming most of our soldiers haven’t turned into pickles by then, that is. Which reminds me, are we going to be responsible for any wine shortages? Please say no. I already get enough politely irate letters from Orlesian nobles as it is.”

“Don’t worry,” Josephine said, trying not to giggle. “We still have plenty of wine. And I have a special box just for those sorts of letters.”

“Oh, good! There’s a drawer I’ve been using, but it’s getting rather full.”

Even Cullen chuckled at that, and slowly we turned the conversation to non-All Souls’ related matters. It’s amazing how much time you find to chat about absolutely nothing when you aren’t constantly living under the threat of archdemons swooping down on your fortress, or armies marching up to your front gate. It felt strange, but good; almost like being back at home in Ostwick, minus my family being...well, my _family_. I could get used to this.

After a few minutes, Cullen left to attend to his work, pausing awkwardly before finally deciding it was safe for Josephine to see him giving me a kiss on the cheek before he left. The scandal. I bit my lip, watching him leave until he was out of earshot.

“He’s hopeless,” I said, shaking my head and chuckling behind one of my hands.

Josephine raised an eyebrow, glancing behind her to assure herself he was truly gone. “The Commander does realize all of Skyhold knows about your relationship, yes?”

“Yes. But knowing it and showing it are two different things, apparently.”

She blushed. “That...actually brings me to something I wanted to ask of you. Just a small favor.”

Now it was my turn to look suspicious. “A favor, hm? Would this have something to do with a certain _someone_ who keeps leaving you flowers on your desk?”

The blush deepened. “Perhaps. Would that be so bad?”

I laughed. “Josephine, I’m hardly one to judge! Besides, seeing you happy is a reward unto itself. So,” I leaned forward, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “What’s this special favor?”

***

One hour, a handful of pins and several spates of nervous pacing later, Josephine stood in front of my full-length mirror, fidgeting with the ribbon she’d tied around her wrist. The gown hugging the curves of her body was a deep blue, cut scandalously low both in the front and the back--so low, in fact, that she would probably need to be sewn into it at the last minute. Sworls of brightly colored fabric stretched upwards along her chest, each shaped to resemble a different type of flower, held upright by a ribbon tied around her neck. Tiny purple gems dangled from silver chains looped over her ears, matched by an assortment of rings and bracelets all carved with a delicate filigree that brought to mind vines and leaves slowly creeping up tree bark. Her mask was made to look like a splash of water had been frozen across her face, lined with tiny little silver beads that sparkled in the sunlight like diamonds.

“No, no. It’s far too revealing,” she said. “I can’t possibly wear this.”

“I, for one, look forward to Blackwall’s inevitable fit after he sees you in this.” I grinned. “Or are you going to keep the mask on, even for him? Perhaps play the part of the beautiful young maiden who steals his heart, then runs away at the midnight hour before her identity can be revealed?”

Josephine turned an endearing shade of red. “I...I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead, to be honest.”

“Perhaps you should give it some thought.” I gazed thoughtfully at the flower design again, tapping a finger on my chin. “Especially since, given the earmarks of your courtship, there’s a good chance he may recognize you anyway; mask or no mask.”

She fretted with the ribbon again, tugging at it and wrapping it tightly around her index finger. “Oh, Maker _\--_ what if _Leliana_ recognizes me?”

“Josephine. She’s dressed like a nug princess. There’s not really a lot of room for judgement there. Besides, you're gorgeous! What's she going to say?  _Oh, no, my dearest friend! You look stunning?_ "

She sighed, staring silently at herself for a long moment. I discreetly tried to stretch my legs, hoping to pop a troublesome spot in one of my knees. All of the anxious back and forth was making my bones ache. The sooner she realized that she looked incredible--and that she deserved to be the center of attention for once--the better.

“I’ll wear it,” she said suddenly, face lighting up. I grinned. Success! “Damn right you will,” I said. “And if Blackwall takes no notice, I shall heave him over the battlements myself!”

Josephine turned, the gleeful look in her eyes changing into something a little _sharper_ , and all at once I realized the ground had shifted underneath my feet without me noticing. “So, Alyssa...that brings us to your costume, does it not?”

I fought the urge to take a step back, or perhaps dive underneath the bedsheets and hope she did not see me cowering beneath them. “I’m going as someone unimportant, remember? That way I get to have an actual evening of fun and not just an endless parade of people trying to touch my hand. Again.”

“Well, about that...”

And here it comes. “Yes...?”

“Leliana, Vivienne and I were all talking the other night...”

Suddenly I realized how Cullen must feel. Maker have mercy on me. “And you all decided that my costume idea was brilliant and shouldn’t be altered in any way, shape, or form?” I asked.

Josephine looked infinitely pleased with herself. “Actually, we decided that you and the Commander deserve a little treat; after what we talked about this morning, I’m doubly convinced. You’ve both been working so hard this week, and it’s largely my fault. So, with some help, I've arranged a special _surprise_ for the two of you after nightfall.”

Our stalwart ambassador moved surprisingly fast for someone whose gown was done up with pins and a lot of hope, snatching up the bag she’d brought with her to my quarters and opening it wide. At first I’d thought it just contained her costume, but now I realized there was yet more to come. I stifled a gasp.

“What do you think?” she asked, grinning like a cat with a bowl full of cream.

I put my hands behind my back, discreetly pinching my own wrist to distract myself from the tears welling in my eyes. “I think on the long and ever growing list of wonderful ideas you’ve had, Josephine...this one is at the top.”


	9. All Souls' Day: Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! Welcome back to the nonsense. :D Originally, I planned to post this on Halloween night, but unfortunately life/AO3 server issues got in the way. I'm so sorry to all of you who were waiting for a Halloween release! I was literally writing with trick-or-treaters at my door, but it just didn't happen.
> 
> Then I started getting ideas. Lots of ideas. I thought I'd just have a lengthy chapter, but turns out it would be the size of a short story. So instead, I'm breaking The Big Day up into chunks so y'all have a bit of breathing space, and so I can stop panicking that people feel let down by the changes in release dates.
> 
> I make no promises as to when exactly this will be finished, but I'm hoping to have it completed by the end of this week. (Cross your fingers for me.) Please note that I'll also be switching back and forth between Alyssa and Solas' POVs when the story calls for it, so this is no longer strictly first-person.
> 
> Again, a huge thank you to everyone who's shown such enthusiasm for this story. I love all of your faces. *endless heart emojis*

We were talking through fog, our words dripping out of our mouths and winding lazily around the stones at our feet. It was _important_ , somehow, but I couldn't make out the details. I tried to read his lips but he was so far away, his face just as distant as his heart for once. I could feel my mouth moving and see him nodding in agreement; but maybe he was just humoring me, waiting for me to figure things out on my own and watching soundlessly as I stumbled. Yes, that sounded like him.

I kept reaching out to the side, finding it odd that Cullen wasn’t taking my hand like he usually did. Every time my fingers found nothing but air, I felt unbalanced, like the bottom was dropping out of the world. It was all going _wrong_  somehow, and I needed someone else to be there with me so I wouldn’t be swallowed up by the darkness. But there was nothing. No clouds to cushion the blow; no ground to protect me from the fall.

Why did I smell flowers?

_“Wakey-wakey, Quis!”_

I snapped upright, grabbing the knife under my pillow on instinct as a familiar bright pink haze descended over the room. The scent of roses and daffodils hit me like a fist, though this time I noted there were no petals. Sera went sailing overhead, giggling and whooping, bounding off the top of the bedframe and onto the bannister, disappearing from view as she dropped onto the staircase below. “Don’t get caught in any breeches!” she shouted before slamming the door shut, her laughter echoing in the hall beyond.

Heart still hammering, I dropped the dagger and buried my face in my hands to avoid the sting of the smoke, trying to recover some semblance of composure. Clearly, Cullen and I needed to have a talk about locks and doors and what should be done when one of us got up and left before the other. I supposed I should be grateful there were no bees or fireballs; though maybe they'd have been preferable to the dream I was having. The bed beside me was empty, which at least explained that bit of the dream. But who had I been talking to? The scenario felt terribly familiar, and yet when I tried recalling details, all I came away with were blurry half-memories and words I couldn’t quite make out. 

Cursed dreams. After everything I’d been through, I didn’t expect them to be _normal,_ exactly, but it would be nice if they’d at least try making sense now and then.

Once things were clearer, I got out of bed, finger-combing my hair and trying to find something to wear that didn’t stink of smoke and flowers. It wasn’t until I dug through a pile of clothing I’d left haphazardly on my desk that I ran into a very familiar patch of fabric and remembered what day it was. I grinned, holding it up to the light. No wonder Cullen hadn’t waited for me to wake up; he was probably afraid I’d sew him into his costume while he was sleeping. Poor thing. He didn’t know about Josephine’s surprise yet, and I couldn’t _wait_ to see his face when I explained this evening's plan to him. Actually, there were a lot of expressions of his that I was looking forward to tonight. It was hard to choose which one would be the most satisfying.

I poked my head out of one of the balcony doors, finding the weather to be mild but gloomy, which suited me fine. Something about gray skies fit the mood of the day perfectly. That, and I knew anytime things got a bit dark around Skyhold, our head cook liked to bake, which meant the dining hall was going to smell amazing. Just what I needed to shake off the weird feeling from that dream. Shrugging on one of my heavier coats, I checked the stitching on Cullen’s costume one last time before covering it back up. No need for any _visitors_ to peek at my work. I also  dipped my head under the bed to ensure Sera hadn’t disturbed the bag Josephine had left with me; luckily, nothing looked out of place. Good. No one was likely to visit my quarters without my express permission, but I locked the door behind me anyway, just to be safe. Then again, were any of us ever really safe from the mirth of Red Jenny?

I made my way through the dilapidated entryway, nodding a greeting to the ravens still roosting by the exit. They refused to leave no matter how many times I had Leliana escort them to the Rookery, so we’d developed an uneasy friendship over the last few months. Gently, I eased open the door, peeking out into the Hall. Skyhold was already full near to bursting with nobles, their servants, our soldiers, families of our soldiers, and pilgrims eager to share the holiday with the Herald of Andraste; but now the weather and eagerness to discern Josephine's plans for the evening had The Hall packed fuller than a shipping crate. Facing such a crowd on an empty stomach with remnants of sleep crust still in my eyes wasn't thrilling, but there was nothing for it. I took a deep breath and stepped outside.

Even with my bit of scouting, I was unprepared for how _changed_ everything was. Josephine and her minions had apparently worked all through the night to create an entirely new world; one festooned with ribbons, extravagant tapestries, glittering baubles and even painted masks and loose robes for some of our statues. Everything shone with deep reds, burnished oranges, golds, silvers, purples, and rich browns. A space clearly meant for dancing had been carved out of the center of the Hall, the bulky costume tables removed and replaced by small chairs for tired guests, winged on either side by thinner tables meant to hold dishes of delicacies for the nobility when they were at rest. Even the ceiling had been given attention: as I craned my neck upwards, I spotted row upon row of dangling crystal stars, though how she had managed to attach them was beyond me. Magic, perhaps?

My throne had also undergone changes. Instead of being the most imposing feature in the room, it had become an exercise in unadulterated luxury; surrounded on either side by fainting couches, elegant statues of Andraste, and an area behind the throne which was cordoned off by several great swaths of sheer blue fabric adorned with golden stars. Did Josephine mean for Cullen and I to change behind my throne? That seemed...awkward. Perhaps it was intended for something else. I made a mental note to ask her about it later.

Seeing it all sent my heart racing. Vivienne was right: Josephine had a gift for parties, and they were going to be talking about this one well into the next age. I felt like a little girl again, hanging on my Aunt’s billowing skirts as she swanned across the floor at the very first Ostwick ball I’d ever attended. Things hadn’t even truly started yet, but I was that excited and overwhelmed child all over again. The only difference was this time, there were no skirts to cling to but my own.

But first, I needed food. I did my best to keep a neutral expression as I moved through the tight crowd of nobility and soldiers milling about the Hall, not wanting to get pulled into some conversation about costumes or decor before I’d even had breakfast yet. For the most part, people were content to let me pass; a few nobles felt it necessary to stop me completely, but I disengaged myself quickly with a smile and a lot of moving away before they could catch up to me. Several people tried to wave me over to them, but I politely ignored them all...save one.

“I see Josephine let you keep your table,” I said, smiling as I approached. “Though it looks like she’s given you a bit of sprucing up anyway.” It was an understatement. The entire table had been covered by a giant cloth of red and gold, with an enormous version of the Eye of the Inquisition stitched in the middle.

Varric sighed, shrugging. “Who am I to complain? Though she did threaten me with execution if I spilled any ink on the fabric. Which reminds me...you can keep a secret, right?” Gently, he peeled back one of the papers he had scattered around him, revealing a telltale black dot underneath. I winced on his behalf. “Tell her it was Hawke’s fault, all right? No one can get angry at Hawke. Not for long anyway.”

 I patted him on the shoulder. “Your secret is safe with me, Varric. Unless I need a favor, at which point I am blackmailing you mercilessly.” 

He laughed. “I’ve taught you well, Inquisitor! So...any hints on what Curly’s costume is going to be?" ” He glanced from side to side, presumably scouting for eavesdroppers.  "I have a pool going. _In his small-clothes_ is currently winning, though personally I think that’s just Hawke skewing public opinion with her wishful thinking.” 

I threw up my hands. “For the last time, he is not going to be in his smalls, or naked, or shirtless, or wearing tight trousers! Does Fenris know she has this... _fascination_ with him?” 

Varric hesitated. “You, uh, probably don’t want me to answer that one.” 

Sweet, blessed Andraste. I could feel the blush crawling up my neck already, and prayed Cullen hadn’t caught wind of any of this. Though knowing Hawke’s opinions on subtlety, she’d probably nailed a notice on his office door. _Will pay fifty sovereigns for naked Inquisition Commanders, please contact Alexis Hawke at the Herald’s Rest with best offers._  By the Void, what did they put Kirkwall’s water supply? “Please tell me not all of the bets are about him being naked. Lie if you have to.” 

“No, although you did just make several people a lot poorer. Don’t worry, I tried to explain to them it was a sucker’s bet, but sometimes the world just doesn't want to listen. They get what they get. Let’s see...” Varric shuffled through a few of his papers. “...most popular after various states of undress are King of Ferelden, Avvar Thane, various members of the Inquisition--Blackwall and Dorian are the current leaders in that category--Red Templar, because some people are just rude; a blood mage, a lion, a horse, a chicken--don’t ask what's going on with the animal theme, because I don’t know; and finally...you! If you were a man. And blond. And dating yourself.” Varric shrugged. “Probably best not to think too hard about that one.” 

I shook my head, unsure whether to laugh or to grab Cullen and hide away in the remotest part of the world we could find. Half the suggestions sounded like something straight out of a chapter of _Swords and Shields_ , which I suspected was the point. “None of those are even remotely close to the truth, sorry. All right, final question. Is there anyone in this Maker-forsaken fortress who _doesn’t_ want to sleep with Cullen or turn him into some kind of animal?” 

Varric just shrugged. 

“Maker’s breath. I am tossing you _all_ off the battlements at the next available opportunity.” I ran a hand through my hair, trying to process. “All right, thank you; I _was_ going to eat breakfast but now I need tea. Lots and lots of tea. Good luck with your bets.” We nodded our farewells, and I fled to the dining hall, silently congratulating myself on not grabbing anyone by the lapels and shouting _What did you bet on him going as!?_ into their faces. 

* * *

Solas wiped a spot of dew from his ears, chewing thoughtfully on a chunk of bread. The conversation had been about as productive as he’d expected. The distance between them had been troublesome, but necessary; unfortunately that had meant her responses were muddled and confused. He stood, retracing last night’s steps and lowering his wards one by one. Solas wondered if she'd known who she’d been talking to. Probably not. Still, it was good to know she was well. Her dreams were less troubled than the last time he’d looked in on her; a hard-earned respite. The Anchor was quiet, too, which pleased him. She deserved at least a small window of peace before the inevitable came to pass. 

He finished the bread, lowering the last ward and returning his thoughts the purpose of his journey. _Costume required,_ the invitation had said. Obviously, something that would protect his identity was called for. But what should his theme be? Solas had never really had a _theme_ before, at least not one meant for the amusement of others. So many had given him labels and titles over the years, it felt odd to choose one for himself; and for frivolous purposes, no less. When had he even been at a party last? _Physically_ , it must have been...well. Awhile. 

There was the obvious and perhaps overly direct option, of course. Easily done with a bit of magic and a few rags. It would fit the party’s theme, but he had mixed feelings about it. Choosing that particular guise meant some would recognize him, most would ignore him, and yet fewer would _truly_ recognize him. That could be dangerous, this early on. Sister Nightingale was a vigilant Spymistress, and had well-trained people at her disposal. There would be hungry eyes at this gathering, without a doubt; he did not want to give them reason to find him interesting. 

Going as a spirit would require more energy, but it would be entertaining. So many members of the Inquisition had shown open disdain for his relationship to The Fade and its residents; it would serve them right to offer him wine and meats as he wore the mantle of those they so reviled. And on a Chantry holiday, no less. Irony was not usually something he allowed himself to indulge  in, but just this once it might prove too satisfying to resist. 

“A spirit, then.” he whispered to no one. A smile crossed his face as he gathered his things. He could decide what kind of spirit to be on the way there. Perhaps he would choose no specific type at all; let the Chantry’s children wonder what he was and use their minds for once instead of their sword arms.

This might actually be _fun._


	10. All Souls' Day: Afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! This chapter's a long'un. ;) Took some liberties with the (admittedly sparse) wiki description of how All Souls' Day is celebrated, and why. Hopefully y'all enjoy it.

“...and then, just around the corner, I saw a _skeleton._ ”

Loud gasps. A haphazard semicircle of children sat before me, utterly rapt. Nearby stood Flissa, resplendent in her brand new Chantry robes, watching and smiling; nearly an hour hence she'd tracked me down and pleaded with me to help her keep the little ones entertained while everyone waited for the feast to begin. So here we were, settled on a blanket in front of the stables, trying not to pick our noses while I shared some of the less gory tales of my exploits. It was no easy task to find things that didn't center around burying arrowheads in people's hearts, but I was managing. Right now, I needed to become a scary skeleton. I hunched over, spreading my hands wide and crooking my fingers to mimic gnarled bones as I continued the story.

“There it was in the corner, half again as tall as me and staring off into the darkness. Who was this unfortunate soul? How did they get here? How had they died? I was brimming with questions. We were up in an alcove, far away from anyone and anything. My companions had moved off to investigate something else, so it was just me and the skeleton.”

“Were you scared?!” asked a little girl who was dressed like tiny, adorable chevalier. She clung to a well-loved doll shaped like a dog, her tiny fingers throttling the poor thing as she channeled her excitement into its threadbare neck.

I shook my head. “Oh no. Not at first. Not until I saw...” I made eye contact with them all one-by-one, ensuring I had their complete attention. “...the _cheese._ ”

There were a few gasps, followed by several loud yells of “Cheese!” and more than a few accusations that I was fibbing. I smiled, shaking my head. “There was cheese!” I said. “Believe it or not, there was a whole wheel of cheese on the skeleton’s lap. Big as my head!”

“ _Eeeww,_ ” was the consensus.

They had me there. I wish I'd been making the story up; it probably would’ve made more sense. Still, watching them all pull faces at each other was worth it. I’d never gotten to be a storyteller before, and it was surprisingly fun. Behind me, I heard the sound of heavy boots in mud, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Blackwall emerge from the barn, leaning against the walls as he watched the spectacle unfold.

“Tell us the one with the ugly horse again!” shouted a little boy dressed up as a miniature dragon. Bull would’ve been proud.

“I think that’s enough storytime for now,” said Flissa, braving the cacophony of disappointed _awws!_ and _just a few more minutes!_ with aplomb. In all likelihood, she didn’t want to watch me struggle to explain what in the Maker's name a dracolisk was, and how I'd gotten one in my stables. Again. Part of me was relieved; the day was passing quickly, and there was still so much to do. The ceremonial bonfire was due before sundown, and after that I had to get myself and Cullen into our costumes. That was probably going to be at least a half hour of grumbling and complaint all by itself. Better make sure I gave myself plenty of time. 

“Does anyone know how to spell _Inquisitor?_ ” asked Flissa.

...and there went that idea.

I put my hands on my knees so I wouldn’t openly fidget, looking over at Blackwall while the little chevalier girl sounded out the first few letters of my title. From the look on his face, I guessed more than a few of the children would be returning to their parents tonight with a little hand-carved griffon or horse to play with. We’d gotten past _Q_ all the way to figuring out why we should always follow that with a _U_ when he decided to come and sit beside me.

“Getting a bit late,” he said.

I sighed, trying to keep a smile on my face and not think of my tight schedule. “It is.”

“Good weather for a feast.”

"Indeed."

Silence. Maker's breath. Why was it I ended up needing the patience of a scholar every time Blackwall talked to me? Part of me nearly spoiled the secret of what Josephine was going to be wearing tonight in the hopes it would hurry him.

"Won't that be starting soon?" he eventually asked.

“Yes, probably in the next hour or two.”

“Hmm.”

Oh, for the love of... I took a deep breath, resisting the urge to grind my teeth. A few of the children were still staring at me intently, and though my anxiety was mounting I was smart enough to know they’d cause a fuss if I left in the middle of their lesson.

“Sounds like you need a distraction,” Blackwall said at last.

Finally. “Maker, _yes._ What did you have in mind?”

“Wait here.”

Where else was I going to go? I glanced up at Cullen’s office, painfully aware that I could only see one of the doors from down here, which meant my quarry could easily be slipping away as I sat in the mud listening to these tots spell my name. It’d be just like him to go find Cassandra and get her to help him hole up somewhere, then appear two hours late to the party telling me how he’d had to “help” some young recruit or inspect some non-existent shipment of weaponry...I shook my head. This is what came of trying to teach children the perils of cheese skeletons.

We’d spelled my title once now and had started again to make sure; meanwhile, I was silently reciting a string of curses imagining Cullen convincing Morrigan to let him use the Eluvian for his escape when a large, hulking figure walked out of the barn to stand beside me. I blinked, sure that my eyes were playing tricks on me. There was not, in fact, a grown man dressed as a large, chestnut stallion standing before me. He most certainly did not have wooden hooves where his hands should have been; he did not have a shining, silky mane flowing from the head of his mask, nor was he wearing long velvet robes in the same color. No, this was a dream. I was dreaming, and Sera was going to wake me up with another smoke-bomb, and then Iron Bull was going to do some kind of interpretive dance on my desk with Maryden and Leliana playing a merry tune beside him, because that would actually make more sense than what I was seeing now.

“Who wants to go for a ride!?” rumbled Blackwall.

Flissa, whose mouth was open about as wide as mine, did not react quickly enough to discourage the children. There was a collective, ear-piercing squeal as Blackwall was mobbed by tiny figures, the ones close enough to touch him tugging eagerly on his chestnut-colored coat and yelling, “Me! Me!” at him.

“All right, I hear you. One at a time, one at a time. Up we go!” Blackwall reached out and hoisted the little chevalier girl up on his shoulders, giving a little kick as she dug her fingers into his hair. “That way!” she squealed, tugging sharply. To his credit, he only winced a little. He gave me a wink as he passed, trotting slowly out towards the main courtyard, the children trailing after him like an eager band of ducklings. Once he got a bit further away, I could have sworn I heard him neigh.

Flissa and I stared. "I _swear_ all of these people seemed normal when I met them," I muttered.

Up above on the battlements, I heard a loud yell. Shit, had Cullen tried to run already? I looked up, glimpsing a familiar head of orange-red hair and a flailing staff.

“ _Oi! Wait for me! I want a go!_ ” shouted Hawke.

* * *

 “There was no word for heaven or for earth, for sea or sky. All that existed was silence. Then the Voice of the Maker rang out, the first Word...”

Following the trend in Orlais was one thing, but one did not entirely ignore tradition. 

The sun was starting to dip below the mountaintops by the time we finally made their way down to the valley below Skyhold's massive gates. Over an hour of fussing nobles and soldiers sloshing through muddy, melting snow; over an hour of sad faces turning my way, whispering prayers or thanks or sometimes just looking away before I could catch their eye. I did my best to ignore them, losing myself in idle chat with Cullen and Leliana as we walked close together to stay warm. Earlier in the week, Cullen’s people had meticulously cleared out a path to the valley and a space for the bonfire, setting up Chantry banners and a ring of braziers to keep everyone warm while we waited and prayed. We stood there now, all arranged in a tight circle listening as Mother Giselle recited Threnodies and lectured us on the nature of spirits. Beside her were Leliana and Cassandra, their heads bowed and eyes closed. I wondered if they were remembering the Divine. Perhaps there was still a fragment of her left in The Fade; or perhaps the Nightmare had swallowed her whole. I hoped not. A few feet away, I stood with Cullen; one hand wrapped tightly in his, the other gripping the torch that would light the fire when it finally came time.

“By your will, may all things be done.” Mother Giselle finished her verse, nodding slightly in my direction. I took her cue, squeezing Cullen’s hand as we moved forward together. We stopped halfway towards the carefully arranged pile of wood and kindling, where I laid my torch against one that had already been lit and driven into the ground. As Inquisitor, I had felt it only right that I lead the ceremony. For better or for worse, it was my fault we were here in the first place. The least I could do was try and give people some closure. I let go of Cullen's hand, raising the torch high so all could see.

“We gather here to remember Andraste, and to honor her faith in mankind.” I intoned, moving in a slow circle around the pile of wood, dipping my torch in at carefully spaced points that had already been dabbed with oil. “We gather here to remember they who laid down their lives for the Inquisition, and to honor their faith in our cause. We are alive today in no small part because of their dedication,” I lit another section. “Their loyalty,” Another. “Their strength.” Another.

“We gather here to remember the innocents who were lost through the carelessness of our enemies, and to honor the lives they had stolen from them.” I was almost on the other side of the pile now, Mother Giselle and the others out of view. Only Cullen was still visible, his amber eyes never leaving mine. “Tonight, we celebrate both the lives we have been given, and those which have gone. Remember your friends, your loved ones; remember yourselves, and that your hearts are worthy.” The fire was growing now, raging up into the sky. The heat pushed me back, and I tossed the torch into the blaze to be consumed. _Remember me,_ I wanted to say. _Remember that I always tried my hardest to do what was best, no matter what the historians decide._ I stepped away, looking up at the sky as I spoke. “We speak the names of the fallen, and together we will brave the cold darkness of long winter.”

Taking my cue, Cullen unrolled the scroll in his hand, and began to read the names of the dead, starting with those we had lost at Haven.

I sighed, feeling spent. Eyes turned away from me, finding solace in the fire or in the snow at their feet as they listened. I resumed my place at Cullen's side, looking back towards Skyhold. The sun was even lower now, throwing long shadows onto the muddled snow beneath our walls. I could see the tiny specks that were the guards milling around on the walls, watching as the bonfire raged. I wondered who they had lost, if anyone. To me, it seemed like all we ever did was lose people. I knew it wasn’t true, of course; our casualties had been shockingly low, compared to most forces our size. And with the danger of our mission...it was truly a credit to the skill and dedication of my advisors that we had lost so few.

Still.

This was the part of the day I had been dreading the most. My mind wandered back to the All Souls' of my childhood; fevered prayers turning to bitter curses and dark rooms with candles flickering and muffled sobs no one was meant to hear. The darkness in those rooms had felt so endless, that sometimes I wondered if i had died in my sleep, and gotten lost in The Fade. Were my family lighting more candles in Ostwick now, thinking about the ones we'd lost at the Conclave? Maybe some even lit candles in my name, mourning the woman I used to be.

Cullen was still reading. More than anything I wanted to take his hand again. I knew he wouldn't hesitate, but it would be a poor move in the Game; despite there being more than a few linked hands in the crowd. I flexed my own, looking down at the tiny sliver of green as the Anchor hummed beneath my skin. It ached so often now, even when he held it tight. Was I destined to be one of those old women complaining about painful bones, only instead of bones it would be a hand that could tear holes in reality? Varric was right. All this shit _was_ weird. 

 _Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls,_ I thought. _I hope eternity will be kind to us._

* * *

Solas had fretted and worried in front of the Eluvian for almost ten solid minutes now, pacing back and forth in front of his own reflection. Would there be wards? Guards? An attack Mabari? Was the witch standing on the other side, contemplating the downfalls of her own hubris? Perhaps he would be especially unlucky and Trevelyan would be there, placed in his path by chance yet again, eyes wide and bow ready. " _Solas!_ " she would cry, either in wrath or in happy surprise. He wasn't sure which would be worse. What was it Mythal had always said about fate?

" _Fenhedis,_ " Solas hissed, his pace increasing. As was so often the case with Eluvians, stepping through wasn't the difficult part--it was what waited on the other side that was troublesome. This was a terrible idea. A fool's errand. Why was he even doing this? To peer into the life of his friend one last time before slipping back into the shadows? Self-congratulatory nonsense. She didn't need him. She wouldn't even realize he was there! Was that brief moment of one-sided connection really worth all of this? 

The short answer was no, it was not. The longer answer was...well. Solas sighed, falling still. "I should have left sooner," he whispered at his reflection, shaking his head; though it didn't look very much like his head at the moment. He'd covered his entire body in shimmering magics, mimicking the blurry, slightly-out-of-step visage most neutral spirits carried in The Fade. Leaving when he'd first found the discarded invitation would have meant traveling on foot, but it would have been doable. He'd had all week. But no. No, of course he would choose the work over everything else. To his horror, he had found himself leaving this until the last possible minute, so sure he could use the Eluvians to make up for lost time. He'd even felt pleased with himself for using the extra space to perfect his costume. Bah! And for what? It had all seemed to easy at first. Now here he was, anxious and flustered, forced to choose between being sensible and being indulgent; worried that  _someone_ was going to be on the other end and ask a lot of very uncomfortable questions.

Maybe Commander Cullen had followed up on his threats to move the thing into a locked cell. Maybe the witch's tampering had broken it. Maybe it was still just in a room full of dust and boxes, completely forgotten while everyone partied. But of course, there was only one way to find out.

Sighing, Solas slung his staff onto his back and stretched his hands out, murmuring the words that brought the Eluvian to life. It rippled, the blue and silver light fading away to reveal a blurry, indistinct reflection that looked a lot like an empty room. Could he really be just _that_ lucky? Solas stared at it for a moment, thinking. Now that the moment was here, it was surprisingly difficult to get his feet to move. It suddenly occurred to him that bumping into someone on the other side of the Eluvian wasn't really what troubled him. No, the truth was much simpler than that: He was _nervous._  

"Of all the things to feel..." he said, chuckling dryly. Did they even notice his absence? Did they even still talk about him? 

Would it hurt if they didn't?

Solas squared his shoulders, taking a deep breath. There was only one way to answer these questions, and being fickle about it--or anything, for that matter--didn't suit him. Besides, staying here would be a waste of such a meticulously prepared costume. His decision made, Solas held his head high, and stepped through the Eluvian into Skyhold.

* * *

 Nearly two hours later, I closed my eyes and let myself enjoy the sensation of Leliana expertly placing the wig over my head, her delicate fingers carefully tucking each strand of my burgundy hair underneath its faux tresses. Meanwhile, Josephine flicked a brush to and fro across my face, applying contours and shadow that would form my new identity. Wrapping up the memorial fire felt like it had taken an age, but being here now made it all worthwhile. Inch by inch, I was becoming someone different, someone who was not The Inquisitor; someone who was far away from thoughts of death and sad faces and the smell of smoke. In her place was someone who could fade into the background and watch the world she had built thrive and unfold without her. 

The idea had come to us--or rather, them--that first day at the War Table. After Cullen had grumbled his way out of the room, there had been a short silence before Leliana’s softly spoken _I have an idea..._ changed what I assumed was already a foregone conclusion: That I would not only be The Inquisitor for the entire night, but that I would be a grander, more imposing version of her; a figurehead for the visiting nobility and assembled pilgrims to drool over. Instead, these people who had been complete strangers to me only a few months ago had somehow discerned a need I hadn't even had the words for: To, for one blessed night, be completely and totally _unimportant._ Of course, my friends would still know, and anyone smart enough to notice Cullen spending his evening by my side would probably figure it out, but that was fine. I just needed a little time to escape the majority of self-absorbed nobles who wanted to gain status by--sometimes literally--rubbing shoulders with The Inquisitor. 

And now, thanks to the efforts of my friends, I could do just that. Covering up my tattoo took some effort, but Josephine assured me the paste she was delicately tapping into my skin would not only hide it from casual scrutiny, but that it would wash off easily enough with soap and water when I was ready. With a wig of long black curls and carefully applied makeup, the transformation was almost better than magic. 

Cullen, meanwhile, sat sulking over at the desk, brooding pointedly at a stack of papers he’d brought from his office. _It’ll be just like a War Table meeting, all four of us together;_ I’d told him. _Except I’ll be getting my face changed and there won’t be any table. Or war, hopefully._ He hadn't argued with me at the time, though now he looked like he wished he had. I didn't blame him. He knew what I had in store for him once we were alone. Knowing that Leliana probably had either a rival betting pool with Varric’s, or a group of her people betting various stakes in his, I didn’t want to reveal what Cullen’s costume would be to either of them while they were there. So my poor, long-suffering Commander had instructions to sit and behave himself until they’d both left, forced into yet more idleness for my sake. He’d grudgingly agreed, though I think it was more out of relief he wouldn’t have to endure their commentary for however long it took them to complete my costume. 

So far, he was being good, but I could see him getting antsy and he’d already tried to make up three excuses on why he had to go check something somewhere. I reminded him that his new duty was here, and that sitting and looking pretty was how he could best serve the Inquisition's interests. Then I tried not to laugh as he both scowled and blushed at the same time. 

A knock sounded at the door, and Cullen shot up out of his chair. “I’ll see who it is,” he declared, boots already pounding on the floorboards as he hurried across the room. 

“ _Someone’s_ energetic today,” murmured Leliana. I couldn’t see her face, but the smile in her voice was obvious. 

Keeping my eyes closed so Josephine could work her magic, I heard the sound of the door creaking open, followed by two surprised “ _Oh_ ”s. 

“Commander!” said Cassandra’s voice. “I did not mean to--I mean, am I...should I come back later?” 

“No!” insisted Cullen. “Are you--” 

“Don’t let him out, Cassandra! He promised to stay here and wait for us to finish!” I called, worried he was going to try and start convincing Cassandra that there was some hopeless new recruit out there in need of mentoring, or some project in need of an organizer. 

I heard a heavy sigh and the words _like a prisoner_ followed by more bootfalls back up the stairs. Defying Josephine for a moment, I popped open an eye to look at them in the mirror, seeing a defeated-looking Cullen with Cassandra behind him, already in costume. Mostly. She was fidgeting with the long red wig in her hands. “I was hoping...” She gave the Commander a little glance, perhaps feeling uncomfortable with admitting anything in front of him; perhaps unsure whether he’d be angry she was about to add more time to his sentence. “I have never put on a wig before. And...all of my makeup is old.” 

Josephine, still dabbing at bits of my face, lit up at Cassandra’s words. “Of course, Lady Pentaghast! I would be delighted to help you. As you can see, we are almost finished with The Inquisitor. Make yourself comfortable, please. There’s wine by the bed." 

Cassandra thanked her, moving over to pour herself a glass. The last thing I saw before closing my eyes again was Cullen, dejectedly making his way back to the desk, glaring at his papers like they were the source of all the evils in the world. Poor thing.

I let Josephine and Leliana finish their work, allowing myself to be carried away on the much-missed sensation of having my face and hair fussed over. Maybe I should start asking someone to come and do this for me when we had guests to impress. It was a luxury I’d sorely missed, and it occurred to me that there would probably be a line of volunteers should I ask.

When at last i was allowed to open my eyes, it was like looking at a stranger: My hair was dark, perfectly arranged to fall over my shoulders _just so,_ framing cheeks glowing with blush and complemented by a lipcolor so rich, for a moment I wondered if Josephine had stolen some of Morrigan's things. The rest of my makeup was just as mysterious, kohl-lined eyes sparkling a little with some magical ingredient of Josephine's, and distracting from the places where she'd had to cover up my tattoo. 

“Be careful not to get it wet, at least not until you’re ready to remove it,” she said, lightly tapping on a last bit of paste before stepping back to double-check her work. She snuck a glance at Cullen, who appeared not to have heard, and giggled. 

I looked at the me that wasn’t quite me, reveling in how excited I was to disappear for awhile. I leaned forward, taking a pair of gloves and a delicate fan off the vanity. The gloves were black lace that traveled partway up my wrist, but left my fingers free. It was the easiest and quickest way to cover up the Anchor’s occasional green glimmer, without restricting my movement. The fan was black to match, to help keep me cool and to give me something to hide behind if I felt someone was being too nosy. When I was through looking, Leliana slipped a mask over my face, knotting just right so it wouldn’t catch on the wig and cause a slip. I turned my head, grinning at the fluffy white feathers and pearls studded along the edges. The rest of my costume was already in place: A noblewoman’s gown in a dark green with a simple bodice and trim, a modest neckline and a small amount of fake jewelry. Only my shoes--barely visible beneath the lengthy hem of my gown--relented to extravagance, dusty pink silk with more tiny pearls embedded in the fabric, and ribbons that wound up my ankles to end in loose, overlarge bows. Leliana had insisted. 

I cleared my throat softly, getting Cullen to look up. He did a double-take, and I saw his frown slowly fade. “You look...very different.” He said. 

“Different good, I think.” I said, unable to stop myself from grinning as I stood, swishing my skirts back and forth, enjoying the feel as they whispered against my bare legs. When was the last time I’d even worn a gown? Last age, perhaps. 

“Yes,” he said. “Very good.” The frown was quickly turning into a smile, and I heard more soft giggling from behind me. 

“Oh hush,” I said, trying and failing not to blush as I stepped away from the chair to make room for Cassandra. I waved her over from her awkward perch on the end of the bed, wine clutched in one hand and a well-worn copy of _Swords and Shields_ in the other. She rushed over to Leliana. 

“There’s this one chapter,” she said. “It’s a part where she looks in the mirror just before she leaves for the ball--oh, it’s _so_ romantic. Do you think you can make my hair look like that?”

Leliana smiled, gesturing towards the chair. “I can certainly try!”


	11. All Souls' Day: Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S FINALLY HERE!!!

 

"I feel ridiculous,” grumbled Cullen, trying his best to disappear next to the cheese plate.

“Nonsense. You’re adorable,” I said, smirking into my wineglass. He shot me an exasperated look, which I ignored, chomping down on a bit of fried meat. It tasted, somehow, of lemon.

The party was already in full swing by the time we arrived. Hundreds of nobles, honored guests, and people of Skyhold were crowded into the Great Hall, enjoying Maryden’s lilting voice and gentle lute drifting down from Vivienne’s balcony. She was dressed like a bard of the Game, twin daggers at her back and a glittering mask on her face. It suited her, as did the extra musicians Leliana had hired to back her up. From the pleased look on her face, Maryden agreed.

Cullen had done his best to delay our departure from my quarters as long as possible, but his costume was my masterwork and nothing short of a Rift appearing and stripping him naked was going to stop me from displaying it. So despite his best efforts, I’d eventually cajoled and shoved and ushered him out into the Hall, where he’d immediately taken refuge by one of the food tables, citing that the lower lighting was going to keep him hidden from teasing eyes.

I’d dressed him in the finest, softest fabric I could find, carefully stitching together the pieces of his costume until I’d assembled the most accurate and imposingly cuddle-worthy Mabari costume that two hands could make. My poor, swollen fingers were a testament to my dedication, as were the inexpertly applied whorls of paint I’d slathered across the small bit of his chest I’d left exposed with a plunging V-neckline. Bull’s costume had given me the idea, as had tales of the Hero of Ferelden’s faithful Mabari hound loping into battle with differently colored designs on its back, granting it extra speed and viciousness. Cullen had disagreed with this idea, but it was far too late by then.

Much like Blackwall’s horse costume, Cullen’s included paws to go over the top of his hands, leaving his fingers free beneath. My craftsmanship had suffered a bit here, since making fake dog paws wasn’t exactly a life skill they’d taught me back in Ostwick, but I’d done my best, attaching them to the soft, fuzzy sleeves I’d constructed. I’d worked with Josephine to design a “Mabari-like” mask for him to wear that matched the whorls on his chest; the effect was actually fairly intimidating, if you were looking at him straight on. His trousers and boots were also done up in fake fuzz, with my proudest addition--and the moment that made me laugh until I cried--being the cute, curly little tail sewn in just above his tailbone. It bounced up and down at the slightest of motions, such as a grown man shuffling his feet in front of a crowded room because his lover has decided to make him into her literal pet Mabari.

Across the room, Varric gave me a thumbs-up.

And thus, we found ourselves by the fried meats and cheese plate, where Cullen had staked out his place to die quietly in the Maker’s sight, and I kept stuffing food into my mouth both to keep myself from laughing and to quell the demands of my neglected stomach.

“You could have at least warned me about the tail,” he said, pouting.

“That wouldn’t have been any fun at all,” I replied around a mouthful of snack. What _did_  our cooks put in these things? They tasted like joy.

“Did I mention I feel ridiculous?”

I shrugged. “Well, that’s what you get for being rude to Josephine.”

Cullen blinked at me. “...what?”

“Oh, don’t play the innocent. You’re always barking at her--ha, didn’t even mean to make that one--and cutting her off. She’s only doing her job, just like you.”

He frowned, crossing his arms. I shook my head; clearly I was going to have to elaborate. “Josephine works _very hard_ and her job is just as important as yours is; the fact that she makes it look so easy is because she’s just that damned good at it. You don’t have to swing a sword around to be deadly.”

Cullen glared for a moment, then sighed. “I suppose...I suppose you’re right. I am short with her; more than I should be. That isn’t who...” He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, collecting himself. “That isn’t who I want to be known as. Especially not by you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” I said, nodding towards Josephine. She was dancing with Blackwall, her olive skin flushed and radiant with excitement. No doubt she’d long since forgiven the Commander in her own mind, or simply forgotten the incident, but it was my opinion that she shouldn’t have to do either. If she could work her hardest for me every day, then the least I could do was make sure people treated her with the respect she deserved.

Cullen followed my gaze and sighed again, nodding. “You’re right,” he said once more, squaring his shoulders and wading into the crowd. There were more than a few polite smiles and obvious snickers as he passed by, but he ignored them all. I smiled, finishing my fried treat and hoping next time I wouldn’t have to go to such lengths to make a point.

I busied myself with getting wine and maybe a few more bits of fried meat, trying to watch the scene unfold without being obvious. Cullen waited for their dance to end before pulling the pair aside, and I saw Josephine smiling, her lips forming the words “Thank you, Commander.” Blackwall just looked at him, the slight blush above his beard the only indication of emotion. Cullen bowed. As he turned, I saw an impish glint in Josephine’s eyes, and before Cullen could react, she reached out and gave his curly little tail a firm tug.

Cullen froze, and I quickly buried my face in my wine glass, desperate to hide my laughter. Josephine looked incredibly pleased with herself, and I swore I saw a smile flickering across Blackwall’s face as well; though it was hard to tell with him. Josephine curtsied, saying something before grabbing Blackwall’s hand and leading him back out onto the dance floor. They disappeared into a swirl of other costumes and faces, though I caught a glimpse of Josephine laughing just before she disappeared from sight.

Mission successful.

I hid my face again, pretending to rearrange some of the table’s decor, still not trusting myself to keep a neutral expression. I felt Cullen rejoin me, standing next to me in silence as I worked. When I finally turned, I saw his face and ears were bright pink.

“So. I’ve apologized.” he said.

I sipped my wine, trying to look nonchalant. “Indeed you did.”

“You do realize I’ll be getting you back for making me wear this costume?” he narrowed his eyes at me with fake wrath.

I grinned, lowering the glass. “I assumed as much.”

He slipped a hand around my waist, pulling me forward gently. “Good,” he said, just before leaning down to kiss me. Our masks rattled against one another, shifting awkwardly to make room as his lips pressed against mine; I responded, abandoning my wineglass to eagerly loop my hands around the back of his neck, pulling myself closer still. The noise and clamor of the room around me faded away; there was never anything else that mattered when he kissed me, and now was no different. I lost myself in the warmth of his body, feeling the tension in his fingers splayed across the small of my back, and the low noise he made in his throat as I nipped at his bottom lip. Part of me wanted to abandon all pretense of civility and drag him back to my quarters then and there, but then I realized it would be far more fun--and scandalous--to make everyone think this mysterious noblewoman had achieved the impossible: Stealing away The Inquisitor’s beloved commander. I broke the kiss, leaving him a final affectionate peck on the cheek before pulling away. We smiled at each other, and I laughed.

“I can’t believe I just kissed a _mabari,_ ” I said, snapping open my fan and fluttering it against my neck in mock embarrassment.

Cullen gave me one of his little half-smiles, his eyes following the trail of my fan with intent. “Varric can put it in his next book.” He said.

I leaned forward, fingers idly tracing the whorls of paint on his chest. “Will that be all we give him to write about, or shall there be further--”

A loud fanfare of horns and drums interrupted my lascivious thought, drawing our attention towards the throne. I turned, smiling as Cullen took the opportunity to link his hands around my waist. I leaned back against him, relaxing as I watched this new wrinkle of our massive party unfold.

The crowd hushed, and from the Undercroft doors emerged Krem, still in his Iron Bull costume and looking mightily pleased with himself. He trotted up to the throne and took a deep breath.

“Presenting her ladyship, the most esteemed and resplendent battle-mistress of our time, savior of our land and herald of our faith: The Inquisitor!”

Oh really? More fanfare blared; I raised an eyebrow underneath my mask. “Were you expecting this?” asked Cullen, putting his lips close to my ear so I could hear him over the clamor.

I shook my head. “Not at all. This must be one of Josephine’s surprises.” I said, shrugging.

Cullen made a thoughtful noise, kissing me along my neck. “I suppose _someone_ did have to dress up as you...”

 _Ah yes, but who is it?_ I wondered as I tried not to shiver.

All eyes were on the throne dais and Krem, who was now bowed low at the waist with his arms outstretched to the side, as if to welcome someone. Except nothing was happening. I pushed myself onto my tiptoes, peering over the heads of the crowd to get a closer look.

“Shall I pick you up and put you on my shoulders?” asked Cullen, chuckling and dodging as the feathers in my mask threatened to go up his nose.

“Maybe later,” I said, grinning to myself. His silence spoke volumes. I could practically _feel_ him blushing.

At last, I saw movement up ahead. Krem--who had apparently also been trying to figure out what was going on--put his head back down as a short, familiar figure strode forth, making a beeline for the throne.

I gasped. “It’s Scout Harding!”

She was magnificent, wearing leather armor that looked exactly like my favorite set; bright purple gurn hide and all. The golden breastplate bearing the Eye of the Inquisition had been buffed to a dazzling shine, and there was an almost perfect approximation of my lyrium-infused bow on her back. Harding’s mask was miniscule, covering only her eyes and half the bridge of her nose, also made from gurn hide and lined with an asymmetrical line of golden studs that caught the candlelight beautifully and matched the golden buttons studded along her arms and the front of her jacket. Her long red hair, usually done up in a messy bun with a lot of pins, had been partially let down, the loose tresses softened with big, looping curls while the rest of it was artfully arranged in a pattern tight enough to survive dragon’s breath. Even my tattoo was in play: Though not a perfect replication, distinct lines of bright red facepaint circled both of her eyes, cut wide to complement the mask, offsetting her endless supply of freckles.

No longer bowing, I noted that Krem was staring openly at her, looking rather awed. I didn’t blame him one bit.

“Friends! Comrades! Lords, ladies; comtesses and counts, messeres and marquises!” Harding raised her arms, and I chuckled a little at the slash of bright green paint on the palm of her left hand, presumably imitating The Anchor. “The Inquisitor welcomes you to Skyhold’s All Souls’ Day celebration! Tonight, we honor our losses and celebrate our victories!” Harding leaned forward, winking conspiratorially at the crowd. “That’s a fancy way of saying get drunk, eat as much as you can hold, and _dance all night!_ ” The room shook with applause, a thousand voices raised in delight. I laughed, clapping along, caught up in their joy. Even Cullen started cheering, and that was how you knew it was a good party.

Harding waited for the clamor to die down, grinning from ear to ear. “Later this evening we’ll have a special surprise, courtesy of our charming Ambassador, Lady Montilyet--” more cheering went up, and I could have sworn I heard Blackwall’s gruff timbre leading the charge, “so do your best to stay awake until the bell strikes ten! And if you pass out before then, well...” Harding spread her hands, adopting an innocent expression.

 _Bang!_ the smoke-bomb went off before anyone could even see where it had come from, and I felt Cullen’s hand reflexively reach for his sword before remembering its absence. Today, the smoke was purple in color--presumably to match the theme, I thought--and brought with it a strong scent of lavender.

The crowd gasped; some complaining, some giggling, others coughing and moving away from the smoke like it would sting them. An unmistakable laugh echoed through the hall, and two silhouettes appeared next to the throne: One lithe, in an ill-fitting dress; the other shorter, with a staff and flowing robes.

Sera tilted her head to the side, puckering her lips and sticking out a leg. “I am Lady Fusspot the Third,” she said in a terrible, high-pitched voice, “and I’ll swipe your breeches off your arse if you don’t watch out!”

Laughter rippled through the crowd, as our visiting nobles tried to gauge just how serious she was. I noted none of our people looked nearly as dubious. We all knew better.

“And I am Lady Dagna!” called the shorter silhouette behind Sera, “Mistress of Mysteries, and Enchantress Extraordinaire. Tremble before my awesome power!” She flung out her hands, and I caught the same glint of metal under her wrists that I’d seen in the courtyard nearly a week ago. Only this time, instead of flower petals, Dagna had decided to make good on her promise of fireballs... or at least, tongues of fire shooting out the ends of her “apparatus”.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen breathed, hands hovering around my shoulders as if waiting to pull me away from some terrible, fiery calamity. “Is that magefire?” He asked.

“She _promised_ not to do that indoors,” I grumbled. Everyone near to the throne hopped back at least a foot, but those who were already at a safe distance started applauding.

Sera--aka Lady Fusspot the Third--laughed uproariously at the obvious show of fear, then made her exit with Dagna, disappearing in yet another billow of purple smoke. The scent of lavender was absolutely choking now, and I grabbed Cullen by the hand to start moving away, suddenly desperate to get a breath of something that wasn’t _floral._

The crowd was thick and far too many Orlesian noblewomen recognized Cullen from his brief stay at Halamshiral, but it wasn’t until we reached the door of the Great Hall that we realized our mistake. An enormous crush of people was trying to get inside, but per Orlesian tradition, they had to be announced first. This meant the entire stairway was now an endless queue full of politely grumbling guests, each of them pausing in the entryway so the onlookers would have time to admire their plus ones and attire before they swanned off towards the dance floor or banquet tables. Even poor Varric had finally been ousted, his usual table now covered with refreshments instead of papers and inkwells.

“Is there anyone we _didn’t_ invite to this party?” I mumbled, dodging an elderly count who had an incredibly poor concept of personal space. Now that I was disguised, absolutely no one cared to notice me or move out of my way. Ahh, sweet irony.

“Half of Orlais must be here,” said Cullen, sounding frustrated that his glower wasn’t working with its usual effectiveness. One of his hands still hovered around my waist. “And maybe half of Ferelden, too.”

There was no way out into any of the courtyards from here, which meant if I wanted to get outside, we’d have to go up. I sighed, tugging on the loose fabric of Cullen’s costume to indicate our new direction. “Josephine never did set her sights low,” I said, leading us towards the Solar. “Vivienne was right. They’ll be talking about this one for _years._ ”

We cut through the crowd piece by piece, because I felt committed now--we would go outside, Void take me, and no one was going to stop us. I found myself gazing longingly at the door of the Hall, pining for the sharp, cold air I knew was just waiting for us. Cullen looked back towards the throne, where Harding was starting a rousing rendition of _Empress of Fire_ , much to the horror of our Ferelden guests. Of course, both of us were too stubborn to slow our progress while we stared, and thus I found myself stopping inches from someone’s back, with Cullen nearly pushing me into them anyway, bracing himself on my shoulders as we both stumbled to an awkward halt.

“But it frightens them,” Cole insisted.

“And you don’t?” Dorian retorted, crossing his arms. “You look like the bedraggled lovechild of that mangy beast we rescued in the Basin. I’ll be lucky if _I_ don’t have nightmares tonight!”

Cole frowned. “You don’t have nightmares about _bears,_ ”

Dorian pointed at him. “No. Absolutely not. Don’t even _think_ about it. What goes on in my head is my business and no one else’s, understand?”

“But last night you told him exactly what you were--”

“ _Kaffas!_ What did I just say!?” Dorian threw up his hands, noticing me for the first time. He frowned; then he saw Cullen. “Commander! You’re looking very _fetching_ tonight.” Maker give me strength.

“Pavus,” Cullen growled in reply. His fingers dug into my shoulders ever so slightly; hidden by the great, fluffy paws I’d stitched onto his gloves.

Dorian examined me next, looking dubious. “And you are...?” Despite his polite tone, I saw open hostility in his eyes, an unspoken _Who are you and why are you with my best friend’s lover?_ hiding in the crevices of his question.

“You once called Corypheus your pet hamster when Blackwall decided to be an ass,” I said. “It’s me, Dorian.”

His whole expression shifted, and once again he was the easygoing man I'd befriended so many months ago. “Oh good! I do so hate having to murder people at parties. Terribly messy, and Lady Montilyet has such excellent taste in rugs. While you’re here, would you reason with him, please?” Dorian gestured at Cole. “I’d like to have at least _some_ secrets still left by the time I leave for Tevinter.”

“Do I even want to know what you two are arguing about?” I asked.

“He thinks my costume is frightening people,” replied Dorian, giving Cole a sour look. “I told him that was the point. Well, perhaps not frightening them, exactly; more like intimidate and fill with awe. You know, my usual aesthetic.”

I turned to Cole, who looked...well, _raggedy_ was the word which immediately sprang to mind. His usual garb had been replaced by a shabby full-body costume that sagged on his tiny frame, full of spots where the fabric had worn away almost to tatters. A hood with two large, rounded ears was pinned to his thin hair to keep it in place, and his hands were covered by enormous cushioned paws, not unlike the ones Cullen was wearing. A tiny tail jutted from the back of the ensemble, reaching limply towards the ground.

“And you’re...a bear?” I ventured.

“They miss their friends; tiny, soft things to cling to in the dark when the dreams are bad. Mommy says not to drag it everywhere with you, it will get dirty, but he has to come along or else he won’t have any adventures. He’ll be lonely left behind--I remember being lonely. I didn’t like it.” Cole looked back to Dorian, staring at his face but not meeting his eyes. “It makes them feel better when they see me. I help.” said Cole. He nodded at Dorian. “But he doesn’t help. Reminds them of bad things. Burning, choking, _hot_ things; too many people, can’t see where to run, where is all the smoke coming from? Maker guide me, can’t see, can’t _think_ \--”

Dorian glared at him. “Young man, not two hours ago we all stood around an _actual_ fire and sang songs to it while holding hands. If they can’t handle seeing me dressed better than half of Orlais, then so be it. Besides,” He smirked. “I look too good to change.”

It was true. Dorian was the sort of man who would be handsome in rags, and he knew it; but tonight was apparently an effort to make sure everyone else did too. He’d gone far past the bounds of common decency and straight into scandalous without a second thought: Every inch of his body, was on display, adorned only by the sheerest of orange-tinted fabrics. What few areas of himself he had covered were hidden behind huge, stylized licks of flame, coated either in expensive fabric or a complex enchantment--or both--so that they appeared to “burn”; their shining, shimmering surfaces catching the candlelight and giving the illusion of movement.

The motif was echoed by his makeup: his eyes were lined and blended almost as darkly as mine to present like smoke, with a strategic smattering of minute citrine gems that were adhered to his skin in the outline of a “mask”. The whole thing was such a perfect mockery of the traditional Orlesian party garb that it had actually circled back around on itself and become something of a tribute. It was breathtaking, and of course absolutely devastating on him. Cole was right: Dorian really _did_ look like living flame.

“Inquisitor. You’re blushing,” said Dorian, clearly reveling in the fact I had lost track of how long I’d been staring at him.

“What? No. No I’m not.” It was an effort of will not to snap open my fan and hide behind me and my blatant lie behind it. Dorian had had that effect on me ever since we’d first met, but...alas. Suddenly Hawke’s insistence on dressing Cullen in next to nothing for this party made so much more sense. Maker, I’d really missed an opportunity with that one, hadn’t I?

“As are you, Commander,” Dorian added, his voice nearly a purr now.

“I’m afraid we can’t help you-- _either_ of you,” grumbled Cullen, artlessly changing the subject. His fingers were _definitely_ digging into my shoulders now, though it didn’t feel quite like jealousy. Maybe he was worried this was what I’d dress him up as next year.

Cole peered at us with open confusion, his pale face starting to tilt so far left I feared his little bear hood would fall off. I reached out to him, hoping to try and explain some of the nonsense he was probably hearing in our heads right now...but before I could touch him, Cole suddenly looked away.

“ _Oh,_ ” he said as he stared off over my shoulder, unseeing. “There’s _so_ much--he wasn’t expecting...” Cole frowned. Dorian, Cullen and I all traded a puzzled look.

“Cole? Are you all right?” I asked.

He closed his eyes. “Too bright. Too bright, and too loud; can’t _see_ \--he wants it that way. I should be quiet. But I don’t want to be. Where did he go? So many questions. I have to go.” He said, before abruptly turning and disappearing into the crowd. The three of us stared after him, completely at a loss.

Dorian, of course, was the first of us to recover. “On that charming note, I think I’ll get some more wine and flirt with that young man who’s been staring at me shamelessly for the last ten minutes. Ah, who am I kidding? They’ve all been staring.” He winked, departing with a little wave of his fingers. It was at this point that I finally caught sight of the _back_ of his costume--or really, the barest wisp of fabric that was pretending to be the back of a costume --and felt myself turn several new and interesting shades of scarlet.

“We should get some air,” insisted Cullen, sounding about as out of sorts as I was. I offered no resistance as he steered me back towards the Solar.

For most of our parties, I instructed Josephine that the Solar, library, and rookery were off-limits to guests. She always did her best to honor my request, but for All Souls’, the conversation had been one of resignation on my part. There were simply too many guests, and too great a need for every inch of space Skyhold had to offer. The library was still discouraged, though I had _no_ doubt there were at least two or three pairs of revelers “browsing” one another up among the stacks of parchment and Dorian’s overwrought armchair. As for the Rookery, well...if a flock of angry, loud, red-eyed ravens doesn’t keep you away from a spot, then nothing probably will.

I was pleasantly surprised to find the Solar somewhat empty, with only a few people milling about.  Without exception, the guest’s faces were all turned upwards, taking in the Story of the Inquisitor, as told by our mysterious--and now, absent--elven apostate. Josephine’s decor had not missed this room, by any means; but with Solas’ beautiful murals still on the walls, it was both difficult and unnecessary to make things any more moving than they already were.

A cool breeze flowed through the room from the open door at the other end, and I closed my eyes, leaning into it as if it were a physical thing, thanking the Maker for an escape from the heat of the Hall and my own blood rushing to all the wrong places. Beside me, I heard Cullen sigh with relief. But when I opened my eyes again, I saw exactly what I’d been hoping to avoid by opening the Solar: Some stranger, pulling back the dark cloth covering Solas’ desk, poking openly through his things.

“Please don’t touch that,” I said, pulling myself out of Cullen’s grasp and striding over before I’d remembered that I wasn’t recognizable as the Inquisitor anymore. Hopefully sheer wrath would be enough.

The figure started, turning to face me. Their face was invisible beneath a strange, bluish blur; a party-goer dressed as a spirit, then. I hadn’t seen many tonight, but it was a good costume--they were unrecognizable beneath it, and it gave me chills to see something so close to the real thing standing before me. I flexed my left hand, feeling the Anchor flare to life underneath my glove in anticipation of a fight.

“That’s Inquisition property,” I continued. “There are very sensitive materials on that, and for your own safety I ask that you not touch any of them.”

The figure pulled away instantly, inclining their ethereally masked head towards me. “Apologies,” said a deep voice. “I meant no disrespect.”

I crossed my arms, tapping my closed fan against the side of my bodice. “Naturally. The room is, of course, free for you to examine. So long as you don’t touch any of the murals.” I glanced up at the one directly behind the spirit guest, feeling the usual pang of regret that I had never properly thanked Solas for his work, always assuming we’d have time for it later. “They’re priceless elven works, as I’m sure you can tell.”

Another nod. “Yes, they are very...unique. I’m surprised you allowed this room to be used by your guests.”

I sighed. “It wasn’t my first choice, I assure you.” I felt Cullen come up beside me, silently radiating warmth into my back. I didn’t need to turn to know there was probably a scowl on his face, because how dare this stranger continue talking to me when I’d come to reprimand them? I looked away from the murals, trying to catch a clearer glimpse of the guest’s face; but it was impossible beneath their costume. Whoever this was must be a mage of some considerable power; maybe one of Vivienne’s associates from the Orlesian Circle? “Did you travel far to attend tonight?” I asked, hoping to casually glean a little more information.

“No, not very far at all, I’m afraid.” replied the figure. Their voice sounded...male? Probably? Their spell was putting everything about them just slightly _off_ , including their voice. “The invitation was far too tempting, once I received it.” They looked around, taking in the murals once more, then back to me. I had the eerie feeling of being _examined_ , and was glad for Cullen’s solid presence next to me. “I almost couldn’t make it, but I’m very glad now that I did.”

“Good. I hope you enjoy yourself. I think “Inquisitor” will be starting a dance in the Great Hall soon; you should attend, if you have a mind.” Damn it, they were still standing too close to Solas’ old table. The longer they lingered there, the more I wanted to bodily throw them from the room. Maker’s breath, how hard was it not to rifle through other people’s things?

The figure bowed low. “Of course. Thank you both for your time. I am glad to have gotten a chance to speak with you this evening.” Was I imagining it, or was there the ghost of a smile on their face? “ _Dareth shiral._ ”

They cut past us, heading back out into the Great Hall. I thought I caught the scent of wet earth and plants as they passed by. Between that and their language, I’d bet my last sovereign this was a Dalish elf of some description; which I suppose explained the poor social graces and use of magic. But I’d thought they mistrusted spirits? Why dress as one? Why even attend an Andrastian ceremony?

Worse yet, something about the entire encounter made my skin crawl and my mind run circles around the dream I’d had this morning. Had there been Dalish elves in my dream? I couldn’t remember.

I shook my head, trying to clear it, and reached for Cullen’s hand. He responded instantly; at least that part of my dream wasn’t coming back to haunt me. I pulled us both forward, pausing by the table to replace the cloth so that it covered the desk again. With no small amount of annoyance, I noticed that some of Solas’ books had been moved. “Nosy bastard,” I growled.

“Do you want me to remove them? I can catch up if I go now,” said Cullen.

I shook my head. “No, it’s all right. They probably just don’t go to parties much. Though if they show  their face in here again, or I’m calling Leliana.” I felt confident our Spymistress could intimidate anyone, even dressed as a frilly nug. I finished my work with the table, and led us out towards the walkway. A growing part of me wanted to just grab a bottle of wine and disappear into Cullen’s office for awhile until my nerves settled.

_I’m surprised you allowed this room to be used by your guests._

Had they known who I was? How? Perhaps it had been my voice, or the fact I singled them out. Yes, that was probably it. No one who wasn’t part of the Inquisition would’ve cared if they bothered a rickety old desk shoved into the corner of a room. Or maybe they’d been at the bonfire, and recognized my voice. Had there been any Dalish elves there today? I frowned. Strange enough for a Dalish elf to be at an All Souls’ party, even stranger for them to be at a symbolic pyre for Andraste.

Maker. This was silly. I was here to have fun tonight, not waste my time worrying about rude Dalish mages at my party. I exhaled, forcing myself to let go of the issue, smiling up at Cullen and his ridiculously cute mabari mask. There would be more than enough time to worry about other people _tomorrow_.

* * *

The lights dimmed. The glittering silver ornaments on the Hall’s ceiling glowed, their hidden enchantment turning them into burning stars. Maryden’s voice stilled, replaced with the tense strumming of string and rumble of drums. The dancers twirling in the center of the room stilled, retreating back to the edges, whispering to one another eagerly.

My earlier supposition about the dark purple fabric draped behind my throne had been half-right: Josephine hadn’t meant for Cullen and I to change back here, per se; but it had been meant as a kind of staging area. In my absence, she’d expanded the seclusion to the door of my quarters, ensuring that Cullen and I could move back and forth between the two unseen. Now I was standing behind it, peering out in a little keyhole of fabric I’d created, listening to my own heartbeat race. I felt like a little girl again, darting between shadows to hide beneath skirts and table cloths as I ran from my great-aunt’s strict supervision. Having more than half a bottle of wine in my belly wasn’t helping matters; I couldn’t decide if I wanted to start giggling and never stop, or just take a nap.

For his part, Cullen was frustratingly calm, either taking the entire event in stride, or hiding his nervousness much better than me. Worse yet, he seemed terribly _pleased_ about something, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on what. It didn’t help that he looked absolutely amazing in the ruthlessly tailored jacket, trousers and boots Josephine had procured for him; the mabari costume had been amusing, but _this_ was like something out of an Orlesian romance novel and it went straight to my heart. Furthermore, I could see almost every muscle he had, and I decided that while Templar life may not have been kind, it certainly did wonders for one’s thighs.

All of it together was driving me completely to distraction, so I’d decided to watch the people out in the Hall instead to try and keep from fidgeting.

When the room was practically vibrating with tension and excitement, a familiar purple blur appeared. “Ladies and gentlemen!” shouted Scout Harding, jumping up onto my throne with a flushed but pleased-looking Krem trailing after her. “My friends! The night grows long, and we near the appointed hour. Beware, when the hour sounds ten! Prepare yourselves!”

Distantly I heard someone striking the hour. The music from the balcony picked up a little, and with some feat of subtle magic, the lighting in the Great Hall changed for a second time, becoming an ethereal bluish-green that permeated the room. The resemblance to light from The Fade was striking, and I felt a familiar anxiety coiling in my gut. “Hold it together, Trevelyan,” I whispered, low so that Cullen wouldn’t hear. “The only spirits here tonight are the kind you have to clean up off the floor.”

From somewhere--the balcony, perhaps?--there came a great, booming voice. I recognized Hawke’s amplification spell immediately, though the voice didn’t sound like hers. Fenris, perhaps? Or maybe it was Dorian, secretly laughing at the way we all jumped in surprise.

“Darkness falls, and the rule of light diminishes. And yet, life continues. There are those who thrive in the shadow, and who awaken only when the rest of our eyes close. Step forward, wielders of night!”

The crowd shuddered, disgorging a silent band of roguish characters, including Hawke. She took the lead--did Alexis even know how not to take the lead, I wondered--and was, as promised, dressed like a Qunari. I had never seen the Arishok of which she spoke, but I imagined it must have been very warm in Kirkwall, because Hawke wore little save for long black trousers, a red sash at her waist, and just enough fabric to cover her bosom before the costume devolved into a series of carefully wound ropes crisscrossing her neck and shoulders. Fake “tattoos” in red paint fell over either side of her collarbone, with two red leather pauldrons emblazoned with the Mark of the Qun. The ensemble was...evocative, to say the least. I couldn’t decide if she looked like a sacrifice bound for the spit, or an entangled lover waiting for the touch of another.

Hawke assembled her group in the center of the dancefloor, tapping the butt of her staff on the tile three times. “We are those who wield the night, using it as our tool; our shroud. We are the assassins, the Fog Warriors, the thieves, the pickpockets. We are those who hunt by the moon’s glint and by the sharpness of our wits. And we demand tribute!”

The little rogue’s gallery following her erupted into a series of primal shouts, rattling their daggers and stomping their feet. Several of the assembled nobles recoiled in horror, while others giggled their way through their anxiety.

“Who shall soothe the tempers of those who wield the darkness? Who will answer the call?” asked the booming voice from before. There was a certain relish in their voice, as if watching people squirm uncomfortably in their party garb was terribly amusing. Definitely Fenris, I decided.

It was then that I saw them: Each “rogue” had small, empty bags which they thrust outward, clearly demanding to be filled. Suddenly I understood why Skyhold’s cook had been so cross with us a few days ago: This was what the candy was really for. One by one, many of them still giggling or fluttering their fans across their masked faces, the assembled nobles and guests dug into their own little pouches and carefully deposited sweets in the rogue’s bags. Varric, now in full kingly garb, emerged from the crowd, shaking his head at Hawke as he dropped candy into her bag. She snarled and lunged a little at him, grinning from ear to ear as she did it, which of course just made him laugh. Maker, those two.

Once the nobles had cleared, Hawke tapped her staff on the floor again, and the rogue’s gallery disappeared back into the crowd.

The voice returned, deep and foreboding as ever. “As the sun continues its slumber, what lurks in the places we fear to tread? What eyes watch from the shelter of caverns and the forests of our lands? Step forward, beasts of the night!”

There was no peaceful assemblage this time. Guests dressed as beasts rushed forward from the crowd, leaping, snarling and howling their way into the center of the dancefloor just as the rogue’s gallery had. I recognized Bull straight away, his dragon costume having grown even more outlandish since I’d last seen him. What was it with that man and tying things to his horns?

Not all of the people dressed as animals were part of the group; most of the guests dressed like beasts of burden or harmless creatures stayed behind. I saw Leliana’s nug costume hovering in a doorway, refusing to join in. This assemblage seemed to be primarily for hunters...or at least, those that fancied themselves as such.

I heard a soft chuckle, and turned to find Cullen walking up behind me to peer out at proceedings over my shoulder. “That might have been me out there, if it wasn’t for this little surprise of Josephine’s,” he whispered.

“Oh, what a sight that would’ve been. Would you have given us a nice loud roar for the crowd?” I asked, grinning.

He gave me a gentle nudge. “Only for you, of course.” Maker, were his eyes _actually_ twinkling? I looked away, blushing furiously and not trusting myself to make any kind of coherent comeback that wouldn’t just degenerate into endless kissing. Tempting, but I’d feel sad if I ruined Josephine’s plans by missing my cue.

One of the beasts, a slender young woman dressed in a horrifyingly accurate representation of a varghest, stepped forward. “We are the creatures of the night! We stalk and hunt and fly through shadow, quick as a thought...and we demand **_TRIBUTE!_** ” More roaring and stamping of feet, mostly on Bull’s part. I heard laughter amongst the assembled nobles.

There was a pause, between the beasts crying for their candy and reaching for their bags; in that moment I heard an all-too familiar sound that had me clenching my fists to keep from reaching for a weapon. I gritted my teeth and looked... _up_.

Sure enough, there was Morrigan, shapeshifted into an enormous spider, crawling across Skyhold’s ceiling. I cringed, watching her spin a web and slowly descend, just as people were getting ready to step forward and offer up their bits of candy. Someone screamed, and then all eyes were on her, and even though she had no face or mouth to smile with I could have sworn she looked amused.

“Maker’s breath, is that _Morrigan?_ ” Cullen gasped.

Luckily, Iron Bull didn’t miss a beat. As soon as he saw Morrigan drifting down towards them, he threw his arms open wide. “Ahh, another beast for the menagerie!” He cried, laughing and roaring and not stopping until at least half of the other beasts and guests were laughing with him. How he knew the spider was Morrigan and not some horrible creature bent on eating all of our innards, I couldn’t guess, but at least this way there wouldn’t be any bloodshed. Yet.

By now, Morrigan had gotten close enough to land, and there was an immediate parting of the ways so she could arrive gracefully without touching anyone. For obvious reasons, Morrigan had no bag for candy, but seemed content snapping her pincers at random people instead. Maker. I could already imagine the fretful letters that were going to fill my desk when this was over.

For obvious reasons, this tribute was quickly given, our noble guests returning to their safe spots at the edge of the room at the earlier possible opportunity. I saw more familiar faces this time: Blackwall and Josephine, hand-in-hand, laughing as they dropped sweets into bags...though I noted Blackwall made sure to put himself between Josephine and Morrigan as they passed. Leliana emerged as well, patting Morrigan affectionately on one of her long legs. Unlike Hawke, she did not receive a lunge for her efforts.

Thus mollified, Skyhold’s collection of nightly creatures dispersed back into the crowd at large...even Morrigan, once she transformed back into her human shape and gave everyone a little mocking half-bow. Quietly, I resolved to never again make the mistake of persuading the Witch of the Wilds to attend courtly functions when she wasn’t in the mood.

Unmoved by events, the booming voice continued. “The sun retreats from its throne in the sky, and we close our eyes, minds adrift in the endless corridors of The Fade as we sleep.” Was it my imagination, or was there suddenly a note of disdain in our mysterious host’s voice? “Spirits and demons wait to greet us there, tempting us towards betrayal, waiting for their chance to move through the darkness into our world.”

The music swelled, and a horde of spirits and demons surged to the center of the room. I looked for our unwelcome guest from the Solar, but saw no one like them. Surely, with such an elaborate costume, they hadn’t left already? Strange.

Most of the Fade costumes were full bodied, which meant I couldn’t pick out any familiar faces or forms. It was eerie, watching them gather there, holding out their bags for candy like eager children. The Anchor started to ache, and I repressed a shudder. Before I’d gone to the Conclave, I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d heard spirits mentioned, aside from the occasional note in letters from our extended family in the Templar Order. Now I’d probably forgotten more about them--and The Fade--than most Circle Mages had ever known.

“We are what lurks in The Fade, our hungry hands reaching for the bodies the Maker has cruelly denied us,” said the “lead” spirit, their sheer fabric falling across their head and shoulders like starlit waves. Briefly, I was glad Solas wasn’t in Skyhold anymore. That sentence alone would have probably sent him running for the hills with disgust. “Feed our empty hearts! We demand tribute!”

After the horror that had been the nighttime beasts, the crowd seemed positively relieved to give up their treats to the spirits. Ironic, to say the least. Besides the bonfire, this had been the part of the night I was the wariest about, but everyone looked like they were enjoying themselves well enough. I clenched my aching hand into a fist, keeping it tucked away in the folds of my dress so that Cullen wouldn’t see.

“Are you ready?” he whispered in my ear, his gloved hand tracing a pattern along the back of my neck. It took everything I had not to shiver at his touch. “Always,” I whispered back, pulling away from my self-made keyhole in the curtains to look at him. The Anchor was stabbing me in the palm now, tiny little pricks like needles trying to get underneath my skin. I ignored it, kissing him swiftly. He made a noise of surprise, but held his ground, returning my affection eagerly.

Eyes still closed, I reached out with my other hand and felt around the small table beside us until I found what I was looking for. I brought Cullen’s mask up as I parted the kiss. “Your mask, Commander,” I whispered, grinning. He smiled, holding still as I lifted it up to his face and tied the knots behind his head. My hand made things difficult, but I’d killed demons with the Anchor flaring like it was dragonfire, and I’d be damned if I was going to let it stop me from tying a simple knot.

A moment later it was done, and I stepped back to admire my work. I almost shivered all over again, looking at him. _Colorful_ was not a word I’d normally use to describe Cullen, but seeing him dressed all in black and dark blues was something else entirely. I wondered if he’d ever understand the effect he had on me, especially at moments like this.

“Your turn,” He said, giving me one of his little half-smiles. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes as he tied my mask onto my face. Mine covered my face entirely, meaning I was somehow going to have to learn how to project my voice and keep breathing through the two fashionably small holes provided. Slowly I exhaled, testing the feel of the mask against my cheeks and my chin, finding it bizarrely light and uncomfortable at the same time. Never in my life had my entire face been touched by something all at once. I decided it was not my favorite sensation.

“Are you all right?” Cullen asked, fingers hovering around my shoulders, poised to snatch the foul thing from my face in half a moment, should I ask.

Carefully, so as not to dislodge the mask, I nodded. “I think so,” I said. “Just takes some getting used to.”

“ _Orlesians,_ ” Cullen grumbled, removing his hands but clearly not sure what to do with them now. For some reason he decided to fidget with his jacket, as if somehow he could make it fit even better by touching it. This was, of course, completely impossible, and served only to distract me once again. “You don’t have to do this, you know.” He continued.

“And ruin Josephine’s party? Not on your life.” My voice sounded tinny and far too loud inside this mask. I tried to ignore it.

Cullen opened his mouth to protest, but was cut short by the voice of our mysterious narrator. I darted back to my little keyhole.

“This night will not end...where is the sun we have been so promised? Where is its warm light, to guide us away from slumber? The dawn has vanished, and we are bereft, left at the mercy of those who rule in shadow.” As our narrator spoke, the dancefloor filled with the costumed faces of the beasts, spirits, and rogues who had come before, their bags of candy discarded. This was no longer a lighthearted ploy for treats; they were drunk on their own power and eagerly searching for more.

It was, of course, all a performance. But it was a good one.

Hawke returned, taking charge as easily as she breathed. “Their god has abandoned them! Look, how they tremble! Are you fools so weak that you wilt like blossoms at the touch of darkness? We are not so fragile. We are death and sharpness and wrath. I say we stay, and I say we _rule!_ ” There was a series of joyous shouts and stamping of feet at her words, as the creatures and rogues and spirits all howled in agreement. Hawke flung her arms wide. “There are none who can stand against us!” she laughed as she said it, head tilted towards the stars above. The Alexis Hawke I knew vanished, disappearing so easily into this power-hungry creature in horns with blood smeared across her face.

I didn’t even have to look to find Cullen’s hand. Our fingers entwined, and that was all I needed. We were ready.

The music swelled, and our curtain parted, revealing the empty dais where my throne had stood only a few minutes hence; presumably removed by Harding and Krem while everyone was distracted. Cullen and I stood alone, elevated in front of the whole room. The magical lights shimmering on the ceiling changed color again, the eerie Fade-green replaced by resplendent oranges and yellows.

“I will stand against you,” I said.

There were gasps from the crowd. I was glad of the mask, for it hid my smile.

They were right to be impressed. I was dressed like the sun rising on a snowy day, my every move like rays of light reflecting off of endless white fields. My gown was layer upon layer of delicate white fabric studded with gold, with even more gold drifting up from the hem, as though I had been dipped in a bowl of liquid sovereigns but pulled away before I could be completely covered. My bodice was pure white, densely populated with silver and diamond studs, sparkling in the changed light like miniature suns. Leliana’s wig was gone, carefully removed to make room for both my natural hair and my mask. Upon its smooth features lay a complicated series of golden swirls, each interlocking and knitting together to form a tight pattern of flames which uncurled to the sides, eventually breaking the confines of the mask and following a series of tiny arms of porcelain that flared out from my cheeks. The effect was intimidating, even from the inside of it--I could only imagined what I looked like to everyone else.

Around my neck hung teardrop crystals attached to golden chains, with long, thin earrings to match. My arms were covered in long, silken gloves; golden at the fingers, palms, and wrists; slowly turning pure white from the elbow up. My shoulders, neck, and everything above my bodice were exposed, and I felt scandalously daring as the breeze of Cullen walking next to me wafted over my bare skin. He was the muted moon next to my endless sunlight, the darkness in which I was meant to shine, his mask one of cream and silver moonlight to offset his dark attire. We were perfectly opposed, hand-in-hand, balancing one another as we faced the world’s ills.

Being invisible had been fun. But so was being  _glory._

“You have no power over us!” Cried Hawke, shaking her staff at me. Several of the other spirits and creatures howled in agreement.

Reaching up, I stretched out my free hand towards the assembled creatures of darkness. A beam of magical light from the balcony shone into my palm, and for a moment I was wielding a different sort of Anchor, one that tugged at hearts and minds instead of Rifts. “That is where you are wrong, wrathful soul,” I said, doing my best to shout through the mask. “I am the sun, and I have declared that you shall not linger here.”

Hawke played her part to perfection, hissing and recoiling from the light as if it were poison. The others followed her lead, pretending to be hurt by the light; some seemed to take their part a little too far, fainting away on the floor or stumbling over one another as if wounded. I tried not to smile.

I raised my hand even higher, and the miniature sun in my hand brightened. “For earth... sky. For winter...summer. For darkness... _light._ ”

Whoever Josephine had controlling the magelight in the Hall was as good as the gold on my dress; no sooner had I spoken the word then the Hall was flooded with light, all of the candles reigniting themselves at the same time. I heard a collective sigh of awe mixed with relief.

Hawke didn’t miss a beat. She bowed low, acquiescing to the change in power. “You are victorious for now, my lady. But we will return!” She and the others retreated back into the crowd, heading out of the Great Hall and out towards the courtyards. The crowd parted instantly to let them pass. The applause started slowly, reaching a crescendo as Hawke led her merry band of misfits out the door and into the darkness outside.

The applause turned my way after that, with great cheers and shouts of approval as well. Underneath my mask, I flushed, heart beating faster than ever. Maker, they hadn’t been this pleased with me when I’d slain Corypheus.

“Shall we dance?” Cullen asked, and I was surprised to hear eagerness in his voice. When had _that_ happened? I pondered the question. I was white silk and golden glitter; more now showpiece than woman. To _not_ dance would have been a terrible crime.

I gave a shallow curtsy. “I would be delighted.”

We glided--because that was the only possible word for it--onto the dancefloor, and I felt goosebumps erupting on my skin as a careful hush fell over the room. Cullen and I stood in the emptiness together, poised and waiting for our cue. My heart leapt at the first hum of a string, and all at once we were _flying_ ; this was a world that had been created just for us, and we moved through it with authority, weaving our own kind of magic with a power that was ancient and indefinable. This was nothing like the eager clumsiness of Halamshiral--someone had been teaching my Commander how to dance. I opened my mouth to ask just who had taught him how to do this, but found that I was utterly breathless; all I could do--all I wanted to do--was cling to him, cling to this moment and never let go; open it up like the gift that it was and step inside, pulling it tightly around me so that I could live in this moment forever.

I almost closed my eyes, the rhythm was so sure. I felt like I could have. Dimly, I was aware of the crowd; they hovered on the periphery of my mind, hushed with awe. Every single person in the Skyhold was watching us spin--the sun and the moon, together at last, their great racing pursuit across the sky ended. We were a fairytale unfolding before their eyes, and we were _beautiful._ Even the Anchor and its ghostly pains faded away, reduced to a simple afterthought swept away in the wake of the pure reverence in Cullen’s eyes when he looked at me.

All too soon, the music began to fade, and the miniature age which passed between diminished, slowing until it came to a close. Grudgingly, we came to a halt, still oblivious. We drifted close; so close, I could feel his heartbeat through his jacket. It was racing just like mine was.

“I love you,” He whispered.

I smiled. “And I you.”

Our hands reached up at the same time, pushing our masks away. He gathered me up in a kiss that was as warm as it was fierce, and a deafening cheer went up from the crowd. I ignored them, curling my fingers through his hair and pulling him even closer. He made a little noise that was for my ears alone, and I felt the blissful ache of my heart being ready to burst.

Maybe eternity would be kind to us after all.

 


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, this took awhile huh? Writing burnout is a helluva thing.

A a heavy flush clung to Solas' skin as he moved through the Eluvian, exhaling softly as he emerged at his destination. With a wave he sealed the gateway behind him, shedding his magical costume as he did so. Back to normal, then. He shook his head, seeking out the pitcher of water he'd left nearby. So many people! He'd known Ambassador Montilyet was ambitious, but the sheer  _crush_ of it all...it was a wonder any of them could find room to breathe. After so many years of solitude and wandering The Fade, where he could plan each encounter and keep himself at a distance, it had been...well. Bracing. 

But he'd managed, and as far as he could tell, no one had taken note of his arrival--save Cole, of course. It had pained Solas to turn his friend away, but it was for the best. If the others had left well enough alone; let Cole stay as a spirit instead of trying to force him into some misshapen impression of humanity, maybe things might have been different. Then again, perhaps it was best not to count past regrets. Solas sighed, pressing his index and middle fingers to his forehead. That could take another age or two.

Being away from Skyhold was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, there was profound relief to be by himself again; on the other was a strange _emptiness_ , as though all of the activity and noise and spectacle had filled an absence in him he hadn't realized was there. The shock of seeing the Inquisitor again had also given him a bit of a turn. Solas had thought to observe her from afar, not be directly confronted by her--and when she was angry, no less. An intimidating sight at the best of times. He hadn't expected her to keep the table, or his things. He'd regretted having to leave it all so abruptly, but of course going back for it wasn't an option. Seeing it all still in place, and moreover seeing her protect it so fiercely from an assumed stranger...Solas smiled at the thought. 

There had been a strong temptation to lift his costume's veil just a little bit, to let her peer through the cracks and  _know--_ or, at the very least, to give her some sort of clue about it all so that she might realize later. But that would have risked the both of them, and it was far too early for such dangers. If the desire lingered, maybe he'd reach out to her in a dream a few months from now, and let her know that he had been there. Solas could already imagine her expression of frustration, followed by an effort of temperance as she bit back her anger to try and give him the benefit of the doubt before snapping. It was, he thought with great regret, a situation he placed her in frequently. _  
_

Solas sighed, beginning the slow process of surveying the area and placing the wards for his evening rest. Unbidden, the sight of The Inquisitor's exultant face as she and the Commander had danced flickered through his mind. She'd been through so much, and fought so hard; both for him and for the world. Solas had long ago accepted the price both of his mistake and his eventual success, but still... it was bitter, what lay ahead of them. What lay ahead for  _her_ , in particular. He glared at the cool, wet ground; as though the decaying leaves giving way beneath his toes would somehow surrender answers as well. Old feelings stirred a little in their slumber, turning uncomfortably in his heart. Fairness was a concept he'd abandoned decades back, but things right now _weren't_ fair and he wasn't particularly happy about it.

"Time," he murmured, as he finished a ward. "I must try to give them time." There would be consequences for the Inquisition--harsh ones, if his knowledge of human nature was anything to go by. Solas had so much more yet to do, and yet...surely, he could find the space to shield her as best he could? To give her time? Yes. They deserved it. He thought of dancing and laughter and eyes bright with too much wine. Happiness. True happiness. It was something he'd seen far too little of over the ages. Things would be hard enough as it was; let their ignorance and his vigilance be like a shield. Some of them would waste it, because that was simply their wont--but he had a feeling that The Inquisitor might do more with it. And even if not, let her rest for awhile. Alyssa had earned it. 

The scowl on his features faded, replaced by a slowly blossoming smile. He could do this. It would be how he said goodbye, the parting gift he hadn't had the chance to give. Time. Solas laid down, stretching his legs and neck discreetly as he began his preparatory breaths. He closed his eyes, smile still in place. This would prove he was no monster, and she would see the wisdom in his acts. Perhaps, one day...she'd even understand.


End file.
